Becoming Ice
by WithLoveOresteia
Summary: A retelling of the Hunger Games through the eyes of Gale Hawthorne and Peeta Mellark.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Becoming Ice

**Author**: Erica

**Rating**: R for language and violence

**Chapter: **1/13

**Word Count**: 50,000+ (written for NaNoWriMo)

**Summary**: The Hunger Games told from Gale and Peeta's point of view.

**Disclaimer:** This is a fan fiction of The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I did not invent this world or the characters I am using. It is canon, so there are events in this that appear in the novel, as well as pieces of conversation taken out of the novel as well. Anything recognizable is not mine.

**A/N**: There are spoilers for the first Hunger Games novel in this story! Also, this is unbeta-d. All mistakes are mine and I take full responsibility. :)

* * *

**Prologue**:

"Primrose Everdeen!"

The moment the words slip out of her mouth, filled with that false cheeriness officials from the Capitol have, I know my life has ended.

My heart plummets into my stomach, bile immediately rising in my throat. I struggle to inhale, struggle to appear normal and uncaring, to stop the shock from showing on my face; to stop the feeling of dying on the inside. Cameras are trained on the crowd of children, occasionally picking up the expression of faces in the crowd. There are faces of shock that a twelve year old has been chosen, looks of pity from mothers in the crowd, and even a few people that have already begun to weep. I know it will make me a victim to show shock, to show weakness. The other candidates will target me after watching the footage.

I tune the microphone out, refusing to listen anymore. For a moment, I remain frozen, wondering if I can step forward with hundreds of eyes watching me. Why do I still care? I walk toward the stage, forcing my feet to move, pushing others out of my way. My eyes are trained on one thing: the stage. They sense my distress and move to the side easily, allowing me to pass, their murmurs falling silent as I do. I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder, no doubt a friend from school giving an early condolence. I brush it off.

As I get closer and closer, my heart picks up speed, beating so fast it has become a quiet hum, like the heart of a hummingbird. I remember my father explaining it to me as a child: a tiny bird that apparently had flitted from flower to flower, so fast your eyes couldn't keep with its movements. A bird that had gone extinct shortly after the War, now only in textbooks. I feel the same way, weaving through the crowd, heading towards death. The crowd of children thin, then disappear, and I'm now standing at the foot of the stage, my eyes barely able to take in my surroundings.

I search for the one person I know will be here.

And there she is. My gray eyes meet her equally terrified ones as I stepped forward, my arms circling around Prim. I pull her away, tucking her close to my body. She thrashes in my arms, kicking her legs as children do, trying to reach out to her sister, but her small frame does nothing to my six feet, her kicks and small fists hardly noticeable against the pain thundering through my body. I stare, trying to convey my emotions, trying to appear optimistic.

Primrose Everdeen is my declaration of death, even though I know she herself will live. But Katniss Everdeen, her protective sister, will take her place.

Will take my heart.

Will take my life.

Because I've loved her since the day I met her, and nothing will ever change that.

Not even death.

* * *

**Chapter One of Thirteen**:

I can't help but take in the sight of Katniss, in a light blue dress that compliments her hair as it gleans and sparkles, freshly washed, a rarity in the Seam. She's gorgeous, commercially gorgeous, but not the Katniss I know. The one with dirt under her fingernails, her hair messily pulled into a braid and a look of determination and concentration on her face as she pulls her bow back, taking aim. That Katniss is far more beautiful to me.

I may never see that Katniss again.

I nearly laugh out loud at myself. My name will be called next. In that giant glass bowl, 42 of those pristine white slips have Gale Hawthorne written on them, waiting to be picked by the pink-haired woman. Of course I'll get to see my Katniss again.

And then I'll have to kill her.

But I could never kill her. I will die to protect her, killing all the other tributes to let her live.

She's going to survive. I'll make sure of it.

With that thought in mind, I nod to the stage, barely realizing that during my thoughts, Prim has gone limp against me, small whimpers leaving her mouth as she clutches at my good clothes. I take a deep breath to steady my voice.

"Up you go, Catnip."

It comes out weaker than I wished for, badly strained and trembling. Katniss' face blanches at the sound of it. Unable to say anymore, I make my face into stone instead, a gentle reminder for her to do the same. She nods, her face quickly becoming an emotionless mask as she steps up onto the stage. I see her hands tremble slightly before she clenches them tightly into a fist. I want to run on stage with her and protect her from the grinning faces and harsh lights, but I have to take care of Prim. She has to be priority right now.

I step back, pulling Prim with me, her face blotchy and streaked with tears. I walk steadily backwards until I hit the edge of the audience, the lucky ones who don't have to be herded into a pen, waiting for the slaughterhouse. Hands reach out to brush against Prim's arms, her blonde hair, any part of her they can reach. Their eyes are already filled with pity.

That's when my anger emerges, and I pull Prim protectively back towards me, waiting as her mother pushes her way through the crowd. These people have no reason to pity her. Her sister is a survivor, a fighter. She's going to win. Her neighbours and community did nothing to help Prim and Katniss when they were starving, instead watching on as they slowly withered away. Only now do they want to help. Only now do they show kindness because of the Games, probably because of the cameras watching. I'm so completely blinded by anger, outraged at their behaviour. My eyes turned to slits at the people watching and a few actually recoil.

Katniss' mother arrives, her blonde hair so similar to Prim's and nothing like Katniss' shiny dark tresses. Her eyes are rimmed with red and her mouth trembling, so I tower over her small frame, blocking her from the panning cameras and allowing her to compose herself. She sniffs wetly a few times before raising her chin up a notch, pulling Prim towards her and gently stroking her hair.

"Thank you," she whispers to me, and I know it means more than bringing Prim to her.

I open my mouth, searching for a reply, but nothing comes out. What do you say to a woman who is losing a daughter? Even worse, a mother who has to watch her own daughter become an animal, murdering others on national television?

It turns out I don't have to reply. A hand clamps tightly around my arm and I turn to face a Peacekeeper, his face hidden by a protective shield. His voice was a controlled monotone, completely indistinguishable or unique. He's just a body with a gun.

"Get back into your place. They're about to announce the male tribute".

Back to my place in the slaughterhouse line, then. Katniss' mother reaches her hand out, but I've barely touched it before I'm being pulled away, back into the front of the male crowd.

On stage, they're still congratulating Katniss for volunteering, and my stomach rolls at their happiness. Katniss picks strawberries every week, special for the mayor, and yet he smiles along with the rest of them. Hatred courses through me. This is no special honour - it's a sacrifice.

The pink-haired woman turns to the audience, her thrilled expression completely incredulous.

"Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" she shouts out to the crowd.

But nothing happens, silence spreading across square. No one wants to play this ridiculous charade. A twelve year old girl was called only minutes before, and now her sister, a major part of our community, has volunteered to die in her place. The only explanation we get is because it's 'fun'. It's nothing that deserves clapping.

So I do the first thing that comes to mind. Something I've only seen once in my life, at my father's funeral. I hold my three middle fingers on my left hand as far out as I can - gaining attention from the audience - bring them to my lips gently, then raise them to Katniss. Slowly, amazingly, others follow, and soon the entire audience has done it.

A gesture to say goodbye to a loved one. My loved one.

The moment is broken by old Haymitch, the only living District Twelve winner of the Hunger Games, throwing his arm around Katniss. I see her flinch. He probably smells horrible.

"I like her! Lots of...spunk!" he says.

With that last word, he falls off stage, unconscious. But my eyes, as always, are on Katniss. I watch as she allows herself only a second for fear to escape before she pulls herself together, clasping her hands tightly behind her back, her posture stiff. To the audience, she looks like she's preparing for battle. Only I know this is a sign of anxiety.

Now it's the boys turn, and I take a shaky breath. The cameras pull away from Katniss to follow the pink-haired woman, whose wig is slightly tilted now, as she moves towards the giant glass bowl. The boys around me draw a collective breath. We're all eighteen, and all our names are in there at least seven times, if not more. But coming from the Seam, I know I have the most. My eyes are trained on Katniss when the woman plucks a slip of paper out of the bowl. I lift my foot, preparing to step forward.

"Peeta Mellark!"

My foot is still in mid-step when she cries it out. Peeta Mellark. There must be some mistake. She read it wrong. But how could Peeta be confused with Gale?

It's not me. I wasn't called. Relief floods into my veins, but only for a second. It stops when I focus back on Katniss.

I watch relief flutter over her features as her hands unclench ever so slightly. I know she's thinking about me. I know her so well. She's thinking now that I can take care of her family and mine while she's away. That District Twelve didn't lose both of its hunters.

But I've lost my chance to protect her.

Peeta, a stocky boy with dark blonde hair, slowly walks up the steps to the stage, and I can see he's as nervous as Katniss is. He's desperately trying to conceal it, tightening his lips, avoiding the crowd. From a hunter perspective, I know he has no chance of surviving. To me, he's an innocent lamb who knows nothing of the world. As the camera zooms in on his face, he looks familiar, but I can't place him. Possibly the son of someone I sell my game to. But as he steps on stage, Katniss' face leaps with recognition and somehow turns paler than it already is. Her mouth becomes a thin line, and the giant screens pick up on her face as she turns away from him.

Somehow, she knows him - probably before my time - and she doesn't want him on that stage. But even my curiosity doesn't stop the hurt inside me. Peeta is turning a little green on stage, and I know he won't protect her.

For the first time comes the raw fear that I might actually lose her.

* * *

I spend the rest of the reaping bouncing on the balls of my feet, wanting to leave immediately to visit Katniss. As soon as it finishes, Katniss and Peeta are ushered into a room in the Justice Building (to keep them from fleeing) and the stage slowly empties. I stand for a moment, watching her leave. Then I quickly fight my way through the crowd. She only has an hour to say goodbye, no more than ten visitors, and I have to be one of those people. I have to be.

I fight through the throngs of celebrating people, happy their own children were spared, annoying me with their demeanor. They don't know the importance of the girl who was chosen. Katniss could have been the girl to save District Twelve from Panem. For all I know, Peeta might have, also. And now one, or both, will die. Yet they celebrate on.

Out of nowhere, arms are flung around my neck. I stumble back surprised. My immediate reaction is to shove the person away, but then a whiff of perfume evades my senses and I know it's my mother. She bought the perfume from Katniss' mother ages ago, before having five children, and only wears it during the Hunger Games ceremonies. She calls it her lucky charm, for each year I, and now Rory, have been spared.

She buries her face in my neck, clutching at my sides. I can only hear one phrase out of her, repeating itself over and over, like a television program with bad reception.

"You're saved. You're saved. You're saved."

That's when the realization hits me. I had been thinking about it all morning, convinced I was walking into the square toward my death. But now it's different. I'm eighteen. My last Hunger Games reaping is over and I've survived. I never have to put my name in the bowl again. I never have to stand in the boys section, moving closer to the front every year, nervously waiting for them to pull out one of forty-two pieces of paper.

It's all over.

I should feel happy, but even that notion doesn't seep through the numbness. It only means my siblings names will increase as they get older, even if I get a job to stop them from paying for the tesserae. It doesn't stop the fact that Katniss is walking into the Hunger Games, a tournament where District Twelve is weakest. Where they often die first.

I hold my mother at arms length, staring at her happy features, wondering if I can ever feel that way again. Then I gently pass her off to Rory, my younger brother, and step away as she pulls him into a fierce hug. Amidst the chaos I see the Everdeens and the Mellarks together, stony silent and staring at the dirt ground. I drag my feet slowly towards Prim and her mother, who are tightly holding hands. They both turn to face me as I approach, and we all stare at each other, understanding every emotion that passes through the silence. The unspoken agreement to be strong for her. Then Katniss' mother nods, and we set off in the direction of the visitor's entrance.

It's not a long walk. I've only been here once before, ironically also with Katniss and her mother, as we received medals for our father's deaths. The building is loud, echoey and cold. Soon we're lining up outside a dark-stained door, Prim and her mother sliding in first. I strain my ears to hear Katniss' voice, but the doors in Capitol buildings are too thick, so much different from the warped doors at home, where every minute rustle is heard.

The minutes go ticking by, one after the other, and intense nervousness settles in my gut. I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants, wincing at the wet stains that appear. I can't let Katniss see how scared I am. Not when she's already terrified. I quickly make an inventory in my mind of what to tell her: be strong, you'll win, make a bow, fight. I'll have to force myself not to beg her to come home to me. I chide myself not to seem desperate and act like it's the last goodbye. Because it won't be. Because she's a fighter.

Men go into the room to escort Katniss' family out and I hear her mother sobbing her goodbye. My heart clenches with fear and anger. Fear that I might also break down in front of her. Anger that they couldn't be brave for Katniss. But as they emerge from the room, I see it's only her mother crying, as mother's do. Prim's eyes are watering, but I know those tears won't be shed. She's standing strong for her sister and I've never felt so grateful.

Before I can walk to the door, the baker of the town slides in, skipping the line. What is he doing visiting Katn- my mind suddenly places Peeta Mellark. The baker's son. My confusion immediately turns into panic. What is he doing in Katniss' room? He's the father of her enemy! Is he trying to poison her? I try to press myself against the door but the Peacekeepers quickly shove me back.

Nothing happens. After a few moments, he slips out again, nodding to the guards as he makes his way down the hall, presumably to Peeta's room. It's strange that he chose to visit Katniss first instead of his own son, but I dismiss it. It's my turn.

I steel myself once again to walk through the doors, but a small hand on my shoulder stops me. I turn around and Madge is standing there, looking scared in the large building.

"Gale, do you mind if I see her first?" she asks. "I'll only be a minute. I just want to make sure I see her before..."

Before she dies. The words hang between us, and I swallow tightly and nod.

"S-sure."

I'll take up most of Katniss' precious time and the few people who want to see her, for whatever reason, should have their chance now. Although I have no idea what Madge and Katniss could possibly say to each other, it doesn't matter. People are coming to say their goodbyes.

Madge is honest, and has barely entered through the doors before she is leaving them, giving a tight-lipped smile to me as she passes. I check behind me to see if anyone else is there, but the halls are empty save for the Peacekeepers. I hurry inside before anyone can object.

There isn't much time now.

And there she is, standing in a room far too extravagant for her simple blue dress. I see a small gold object shimmer in the corner of her dress, a pin, and wonder if it was given to her by the Hunger Games coordinators. But it's only a cursory thought, as now she is running towards me. I open my arms and she flies in. Where she belongs.

For a few moments I can do nothing but hold her. She's so different from the Katniss I know in the woods, her body trembling in a way I've never felt before. I press my head down to her hair and inhale her clean scent, a trace of smoke and wood from our trip to the forest only hours ago.

This is as romantic as we've ever gotten and it's practically nothing. But it's enough. It's enough.

We don't have time for this. I have too much to tell her. I quickly find my voice and begin to read the list in my mind.

"Listen," I say. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance."

Still in my arms, Katniss stiffens, as if she thought we wouldn't discuss strategy. But of course we will. Who else knows her strengths? Who else can tell her this?

"They don't always have bows," she replies, biting her lip.

She's right. The last three games have had no bows. Only swords, daggers and other close range weapons. The audience prefers a personal, bloody death. I shudder inwardly. I don't want Prim to see her in that light. I do not want her that close to her opponent.

"Then make one," I say. "Even a weak bow is better than no bow at all."

She rolls her head closer to my neck, and I feel her hot breath against it. A lump beings to form in my throat. _Do not cry_, I think.

"I don't even know if there'll be wood," she replies meekly.

Now I just want to shake her. Excuse after excuse, not giving me time to dispense advice.

"There's almost always some wood," I point out. "Since that year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment."

The last sentence was supposed to be sarcastic humour, but instead it falls flat. The type of humour we used to have, before this event, is useless now. Because now it's not just for a laugh: it is actually happening to her. It's real.

The conversation has fallen since that last remark and Katniss quietly picks it up again, as if she just wants to listen to my voice one last time.

"Yes, there's usually some."

I close my eyes against her defeated tone, feeling the sting in them. _Do not cry._

"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," I say.

I pull back to stare into her features, driving the point home by gazing directly into her eyes.

"It's not just hunting. They're armed. They think!" she protests angrily.

"So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice." I swallow. "You now how to kill."

She just shakes her head.

"Not people," she says.

Not people, no. But if she doesn't know them, doesn't learn their personalities and lives. . . "How different can it be, really?"

Katniss stares back at me, shocked, and I realize what I've said. I just told her to forget these are people and go against everything I believe in. But she has to do it, to protect her soul. Otherwise she'll be as broken as Haymitch when she returns.

I want to say so much more to her. I want to tell her not to get involved in the first fight and to hide in trees if there are any. To find a cave if the landscape is rocks and learn quickly how to blend in the environment. To not make alliances. To not grow attached. But I don't even know where to begin, searching her eyes for the start.

I open my mouth to tell her all this, but the Peacekeepers appear in the doorway, striding towards us.

"The tribute has to depart. Visiting time is over."

"No!" I cry out. "Just a few more minutes. That's all I need..."

But they ignore me, grabbing my arms and pulling me away from her. I see the panic quickly spread across her face and I know she doesn't want to be alone. I don't want to leave her alone. I grip her hand as tightly as I can, but soon they're ripped apart as they drag me backwards towards the door.

"Don't let them starve!" she cries. Her voice is high-pitched and shrill. I nod rapidly.

"I won't! You know I won't!"

_Say it, just say it._

"Katniss, remember I-"

They practically throw me through the door and slam it shut before I can finish what I want to say. Dread settles in my stomach. I hope she knew how to finish that line. I hope she understands what she means to me, and how she has to return.

So I whisper it to the closed door, wondering if it's thin enough for her to hear.

"...love you."

I know it's not.

* * *

I can't stop my mind from replaying my last few minutes with Katniss. It's a never ending circle of pain, horror and fear. Her frightened eyes as they pulled me away will haunt me forever. It's an expression I'll never forget, as long as I live.

But I remembered to tell her about making a bow. That was the most important piece of advice. I also promised her that I'd take care of her family, and I intend to keep that promise. I'll watch every damn minute of the 74th Hunger Games, silently cheering her on, and when she comes back home I'll tease her about her techniques. It'll stop me from pulling her into an embrace and never letting her go. My arms already feel empty.

I walk through the celebrating courtyard, trying to drown out their happy voices. I refuse to get caught up in the celebrations. This is not a mass birthday party. It's twenty-four children fighting for their lives.

As I walk by, a cluster of girls giggle and whisper after me, thrilled they survived and equally thrilled I did. They want to celebrate our lives, as they say. The most births in the Seam occur exactly nine months after the Hunger Game reapings, when people are giddy and eighteen year old girls want to celebrate and solidify their safety. I briefly consider bringing one home with me, a distraction from the pain. But these girls will never be her. They'll never come close to her. And I'll never forget her. It was just a fleeting thought.

I follow the main road into the marketplace, the smell of fresh baked bread overwhelming and so much different than the hard, grainy bread we make at home. Katniss and I had just traded game for two loaves of bread earlier in the day. Her interaction with Peeta Mellark should have stopped there.

Peeta's family have a healthy business, so he must have only had four slips of paper in that bowl, one for each year since twelve. For him to get picked is an oddity, as it's usually the oldest and poorest with the most tesserae taken out. People like me. But it's also odd for Prim to have been chosen, too, with only a single slip in the glass.

This year is just a year of strange occurrences. I hope it doesn't continue throughout the Games.

I follow the road as it thins and its surroundings become dingier and darker. Just when you think it couldn't possibly get worse, you reach the Seam. Home.

I kick open the front door, the place unusually quiet and empty. My mother and siblings, Rory, Vick and Posy, are most likely celebrating in the square with the others. I should join them, but I don't feel like celebrating this year. I celebrated with a feast this morning, with Katniss.

And look how that turned out.

I lay on the small cot I share with Rory and Vick, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the replay of the scene earlier on the small television built into the wall. I wish I could turn it off, but there's no off-button. It plays whenever it wants to and we're forced to watch it.

I hear Katniss' voice cry out over the tinny speakers. "I volunteer! I volunteer!"

My hearts falls into my stomach once again. I place my hands over my ears childishly, closing my eyes and going back to this morning when everything was okay. When I was positive she would be alright. The scene repeats in my mind:

I had stopped earlier in the day to buy fresh bread from the bakery, a pre-Hunger Game treat for us during our hunt. I had made sure it was the glazed bread Katniss loves the most. Quickly pocketing it, I had run for the woods to meet her there, going up the hill to our usual spot. She hadn't arrived yet and I had settled down to wait.

Katniss only ever smiled in the woods. In the Seam, at school and even at home, her face held an expressionless mask. I'll never understand why. Maybe because of her father's death. Or maybe because there's nothing worth smiling about when you live in the Seam.

I live to make her smile. There's something about her face when she smiles that makes my heart melt. It's not a perfect smile by any means - objectively, nothing even close to the perfected smiles the girls in school flash at me between classes. It quirks up too far on one side, and one of her front teeth is just slightly crooked, hardly noticeable unless you're standing close to her. When Katniss gives you a real smile, her nose wrinkles, dimples appear in her cheeks, and sometimes her tongue childishly peeks through her teeth.

Don't even get me started on what her laugh does to me.

I finally saw her at the bottom of the hill, her bow in hand, and hurriedly executed my plan. I took an arrow I had stolen from her earlier in the week and shoved it through the bread, hiding it behind my back. I'd only just finished when she reached the top of the hill, silent as a lynx. Her faces changed when she reached me and my heart skipped a beat. I'm the only one who gets to see that face.

"Hey, Catnip," I said, my special nickname for her. I told her it's because I misheard her name the first time she spoke it, but really it's because she is catnip to me: addictive and always leaving me wanting more.

She smiled at me, but it wasn't a full one. Not yet. I pulled out the bread from behind my back, putting on my most comical grin.

"Look what I shot!"

Lame, but effective. She had laughed, a deep rich laugh that is so rare in the Seam and even rarer from her. Her eyes squinted as she shot me a look of pure happiness and heat rushed through my body, straight downwards, but I ignored it. I will never push it with her. I'll take what I can get.

She had taken the bread from me, murmuring about its warmth as we settled down to eat. Prim had given her cheese for our little feast, and I mindlessly sliced the bread and spread some soft cheese on it. We toasted each other sarcastically with the Hunger Games toast ("May the odds be ever in your favour!") and began to eat, disguising ourselves amongst the rocks.

At that point, I thought it would be the last time I would ever be alone with her. I was positive my name would be called later that afternoon. So positive I had been slowly stocking up on meat, drying and hiding it in the house so my family could survive for long enough after my death until they could get back on their feet.

But I didn't want to leave her. I was sick of my family doing nothing for themselves, and for once I wanted to be selfish. I watched her eat her meal, lost in her own thoughts, and wondered how I could bring up my deepest desire without scaring her.

"We could do it, you know," I had said quietly, not sure she had heard me. But she did. Her hearing is excellent.

"What?"

I glance off into the forest Katniss and I know by heart. "Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods," I said. "You and I, we could make it."

And we could, too, if she had taken me up on my offer. Right now, we could be running through the woods on our own adventure, free from the eyes of hidden cameras in the Seam.

But instead she had stared at me like I had lost my mind, her bread halfway to her mouth. I immediately felt ashamed for even bringing it up. She could never leave her sister. She loved her far more than I loved my own siblings. In fact, I loved her sister more than my own siblings. It was an awful thought.

"If we didn't have so many kids," I quickly added, trying to pass it off as a dream and not a possibility.

Her eyes flicked away from me, searching the forest for something out of our grasp. Silence had settled upon us and I desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. But I said nothing, allowing her to tell me only if she wanted to.

"I never want to have kids," she replied suddenly, jarring me out of my thoughts.

I had thought to myself it was a strange topic to bring up and idly wondered if it was a subtle rejection.

"I might. If I didn't live here," I added casually. I might want to have kids with her, if we ran away.

"But you do." She cast me an annoyed glance.

The conversation was going nowhere. I was irritated with myself for even suggesting the idea.

"Forget it," I had snapped, and stood up to hunt.

We never brought up the topic again. I wonder if she thought about it now, wherever she was, and if she wished she could go back and agree with me. Is she even thinking of me at all?

No. I don't want her thinking of me. I want her concentrating on the Games. On strategy.

I'll fantasize enough for the both of us.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two of Thirteen:**

Sometimes I hate my family. Whenever the thought sneaks into my mind, I feel guilty and try to forget, but today I let my emotions run wild. I hate my father for being so careless in the mines, even though deep down I know it wasn't his fault. I hate my mother for producing so many mouths to feed. I hate being so much older than Rory and Vick, making me do all the hunting as they would be a hindrance at their age if they were to help. I hate Posy for never knowing my father and therefore never caring about him. I hate myself for not buying more tesserae stock, putting my name in more times so I could be with Katniss, protecting her. But most of all, I hate myself even more for being relieved that Peeta's name was chosen and not mine.

That sickening feeling I cannot shake off, and I hate myself more every minute.

I wish, even now, I could run away. Just sneak into the Peacekeeper building, grab Katniss and run. On my own, I figured out how to hunt. If I gave Rory a few tips, I'm sure he could make his way. Then it would just be Katniss and I, together in the forest, where we belong.

I spend the next few minutes in dreams, imagining a world that is nothing like the one we live in. The previous world, North America, was the subject of this imaginary world in my childhood. In school they teach us that it was a place of disease, greed and selfishness, which eventually caused their own destruction. But I know the Capitol lies regularly and I believe this is just another tale. I imagine a world where Katniss and I could run through the forest, picking fruit off trees as we go. A place where I never have to see coal again, or search hungrily for my next meal. Where doctors are in supply and electricity doesn't turn off at random. And most of all, I place where I'll never have to watch the Hunger Games because they do not exist.

The door opens with a bang and a flurry of activity enters the small house, barely large enough for the five of us. They leave me alone on the bed, in my thoughts, as they pull pots out of the rickety cupboard and begin supper. Vick, the better cook in our household, begins a small pot of soup, as my mother bustles around the tiny kitchen, looking for a knife to slice the bread.

I feel eyes watching me and I turn my head, refusing to sit up. Posy, barely five, looks down at me, thrilled she is, for once, taller. Her words are still garbled, somewhere between a baby's voice and a small child's.

"Gale?" she asks.

Posy is too young to understand the meaning of the Hunger Games and I wish she would stay that way forever. Innocent, thinking it's only a celebration, a feast at the beginning and end. I never want to see her in the crowd of children, her face creased with worry as she trembles, hoping not to be picked. Now her face is shining, her green eyes looking twice their average size, her curly hair barely reaching her shoulders. I reach up to tap her nose with my finger and she giggles.

"Hi, Nosy," I say.

She sits on the bed, waving her arms as her voice reaches a shrill pitch. She exclaims about the Hunger Game ceremonies and what I missed, but she's so excited she's tripping over words, unable to think and process as fast as she wants to tell me.

"A-and then, there were these big teevee-tevey-tellie..."

I see her eyes glare at me in frustration for not helping her and I laugh, finally sitting up.

"Televisions," I correct her.

"Yes! Tellie vuzzions. Did you see them?" she exclaims, clapping her hands.

I nod, and for a brief moment remember Katniss' blank face on the giant screens. I shut my eyes and look away, as if to blind myself from the memory.

But, of course, by motherly intuition Mrs. Hawthorne sees this and senses my sudden mood. She walks across the small floor to the bedroom area, reaching out to take Posy's hand. Posy takes it by instinct, still jabbering to me about the televisions in the square, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Posy, Vick needs help stirring the soup," she says. "Come with me."

I chuckle as her eyes grow impossibly large, and she scampers as fast as her legs can go toward the pot. She practically rips the spoon out of his grasp and leans over, stirring with both hands. Vick glares at us over the steam.

My mother sits down on the small bed opposite mine and I flinch, recognizing what's coming. She folds her hands - they're covered with cooking scars - in her lap and stares at me with motherly determination.

"Gale, how are you?" she asks.

Very few people know about my hunting with Katniss. It's only a handful, really: Katniss' mother and sister, my mother and Rory. The marketplace knows we sell together, but only has an inkling that we actually hunt as a team. Katniss and I keep this in place for our protection. If one is caught, the other is still safe to hunt and sell in the marketplace to support both families. I haven't told Vick and Posy and won't until they're much older. Young children are unable to keep secrets, no matter how badly they want to.

My mother was horrified when I announced I had a hunting partner, only four years ago. Even though she knew the Everdeens well, she was positive Katniss was a spy for the Capitol. Later, when she realized how ridiculous the accusation was, she warned me Katniss would use her charms to steal the food I had caught. This only happened once, in the first year of working together: I had been waiting for her to arrive, lounging on a rock, when a flock of wild turkeys had wandered by. I had killed four, so large I could barely hold on to them. Katniss, adorably, had tried to flirt with me to get one. She had been horrible at it, nothing like the girls in school I have to face regularly. After storming off in a huff to check her traps, I had bent down to collect some berries. An arrow went whizzing by my head from somewhere in the forest, lodging itself into a tree beside me, missing me by only an inch. I knew this was no bad shot: she had done it purposefully out of anger.

It was then I fell in love with her.

I close my eyes again from the wonderful, painful memories and feel a gentle hand brush my hair off my face.

"She's going to be okay, Gale. She's a fighter," she says softly.

I nod. I've been telling myself this all day but it hasn't helped. I want to cling to my mother like I did as a child, tell her all about my pain and anger at the government, but I can't. Not with three siblings watching, all of whom look up to me. I just can't do it.

So instead I force at smile at her and give her hand a squeeze. "I know," I say. "She'll kill all of them and come home."

Her mouth quirks up, but her eyes are still filled with concern. I know that this is only the beginning. After weeks of watching Katniss fight for her life (if she even survives the first day), I'll break down and talk to her. She'll eventually wrestle it out of me.

We stare at each other for an indeterminate amount of time, each silently daring the other to speak. She finally whispers out the worst thing of all:

"I'm just glad it wasn't you."

Her voice is filled with such relief, love...emotions I don't want to feel or know right now. So instead of answering, I turn my head away to stare out the grimy window. My mother sighs and stands up, walking over to the kitchen to help Vick prepare the meal.

I keep staring out the window, watching families excitedly walk past toward their own homes, holding hands and laughing. But tonight Katniss' family will close their shutters, blow out the candles and cry. Questions keep spinning in my mind: Why them? What did they do to deserve this? Is there any way it can be stopped?

Rory's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. Having just reached puberty, it cracks excitedly as he points at the dusty television in our home.

"Look! They're showing the other tributes!"

I jump off the bed, striding across the room in three quick steps before throwing myself in front of the small screen. Rory clenches his hands together in excitement. I watch nervously to see how Katniss stacks up.

First is District One's reaping, an affair much more pleasant and brighter than our own. It's the richest of the District's, proving luxury goods to the Capitol. Their ceremony is always longest recapped on television because they're the most glamorous. No one wants to see where we live.

The girl is a pretty blonde with green eyes. Her name, Glimmer, scrawls across the screen. Rory and I simultaneously snort - District One always gives their children ridiculous names. I see a flash of nervousness in her face and nothing more. The boy is named Marvel (_Marvel? Really?_) and he pumps his fists as he climbs the stage. I will never understand the appeal of volunteering to die.

District Two is an equally colourful affair. Immediately two dark-haired volunteers are chosen: Clove, a girl with a fierce scowl as if to intimidate people watching, and a boy Cato. I mentally file him away as dangerous. He's massive block of muscle, showing them off to the crowd who had whooped and hollered. There's something about his face that says he has no fear of death and no opposition to killing.

I pass off the pairs from District Three and Four without much concern. They also readily volunteer, but there is nothing in their faces to suggest danger for Katniss. They would join, and be protected by, the Careers in District's One and Two. Besides, they rarely give out machinery during the Games, so District Three is useless.

Reaching District Five on the screen, I begin to see a change in the crowd: it becomes a less splendid affair with no more volunteers. These people have agonizingly learned what death is like and do not wish it on anyone. These are not trained fighters like the Careers, but the real people of the Districts. The real hearts of Panem.

The boy from District Five cries, and I feel a pang of pity in my chest. The red-headed girl is a ball of nerves, her green eyes flitting from one camera to the next, unsure of where to look.

And so the Districts are slowly shown, one by one on the screen in front of me. District Six, the center of scientific research (that we never see any results from), District Seven - lumber, District Eight - weaving. These faces are not so different from my own: sallow, hollow, unhealthy. All of the tributes are taller than Katniss, and quite a few are physically stronger than her. But with her hunting skills, she is the more experienced. Only I know of her secret weapon and the skill she possesses.

My mother glances at the screen just as they announce the female tribute from District Eleven, Rue. She makes a small sound in her throat as a child - literally, a child - is chosen, not much taller than Vick. She can't be more than twelve years of age. In fact, she looks younger. Yet she steadily mounts the steps toward the mayor of her town, her eyes staring straight ahead, focusing on nothing. The clapping is only a quiet obligatory murmur. She looks so tiny compared to the adults on stage and I imagine her as Prim, standing there looking equally small and afraid. If Katniss was not allowed to volunteer, she would have gone mad with worry and I would have lost her anyway. Prim would not have survived the first round, and I doubt this girl will succeed. The Hunger Games are no place for a twelve year old.

As much as I hate it, Katniss did the right thing.

The boy from District Eleven is a terrifying brute named Thresh. He scowls on stage, looking menacing, and I file him away as well, remembering to look out for him during the Games. As their mayor announces the winners, I see him gently squeeze the young girl's arm, still staring straight ahead. My suspicion of him softens slightly. He's kind.

That could be a major disadvantage toward him.

Finally, District Twelve. The newscast pays special attention to Katniss pulling her sister behind her, an act of selflessness and desperation. I see myself pushing through the crowd to pull Prim away from her. It's odd - I've always thought of myself as one of the strongest men in school, but in comparison to the other Districts, I look thin and largely underfed. I thought the cameras were supposed to make you gain ten pounds, not lose them.

Katniss walks the stairs to the stage and my face falls with each step. I miss her already. I may never see her again. She looks so beautiful in that dress. The boy, Peeta, mounts the stairs as well. And then it's over, the screen going back to earlier in the day as Haymitch drunkenly riles up the crowd.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rory staring at me, gauging my expression to Katniss on stage. He's not a dumb kid for his age. He figured out long ago my love for Katniss, probably before I realized it myself.

I reach out and rub his hair roughly, like I did when he was little. He slaps my hand away, his stare turning into one of dislike. He hates that I still treat him like a child. But I can't help it - if he's a child, he doesn't have to face the horror of what I see every day. He doesn't have to take out any tesserae or work underage in the mines.

I will do everything in my power to reduce my sibling's chance of being picked. Katniss is the perfect role model for that.

* * *

Because the Hunger Game feast is a special occasion, my mother demands we continue to wear our good clothes while we eat. We crowd around the small table like a family, instead of sitting like we usually do: wherever there's personal space.

Mother hands out miniscule amounts of string beans and a generous amount of fresh bread each. Vick ladles out bowlfuls of fish soup to each of us, the bowls steaming as we pass them down. Soon everyone has their meal in front of them.

We all pause, not lifting the cutlery. My mother usually makes a speech about how grateful she is that I survived the reaping and how thankful my siblings should be that they have me around. How proud our father would be of us if he was still alive. But today, instead, she clears her throat and stands. We all stare at her.

"To Katniss," she says.

And that's all.

Rory and Vick both nod at me. "To Katniss."

Posy claps her hands excitedly, looking at the fish soup. "Catfish!"

We all laugh. I feel the stinging in my eyes once again and look down at the salty soup, inhaling its delicious smell.

I went fishing for this meal with Katniss just this morning. We haggled with the baker for the bread, sold strawberries to the mayor down the road and even received a little extra money to squirrel away.

This is the last meal Katniss and I put together as a team. Suddenly I'm not as hungry anymore.

But there is no such thing as wasting food in the Seam and I shovel it into my mouth, barely tasting it. I don't stop until the bowl is empty, and even then I scrape the sides of it with pieces of bread. My siblings hum in delight as they savour their meal, eating it slowly. I wish I could do the same.

The conservation picks up as it usually does, and I barely follow along to my siblings arguments.

"Mother, what day is it?" asks Vick.

"It's Reaping day, stupid," remarks Rory.

"I know it's Reaping day. I wanted to know when school is starting again," snaps Vick.

"Next week. Everyone knows that," retorts Rory with his mouth full.

"Rory, be nice to your brother." This comes from my mother.

"It's not my fault he's stupid. He wouldn't survive a day in the Games."

"I would too! I'd be better at it than you!" Vick says indignantly.

"As if," Rory snorts.

"School?" asks Posy.

"Not this year, Posy," says Mother.

"Yeah, Posy, you don't get to go until next year!" chuckles Vick.

"Why?" pouts Rosy.

"Because you're a baby!"

Rosy's chin wobbles. "I am not a baby!"

"Vick!" Again from my mother.

"Fine."

Silence.

"What about Gale?"

I glance up from my empty bowl, training my eyes on Rory.

"What about me?" I ask.

"You're done school, right? I mean, you're done reaping, so you have to be done school," says Rory, confusion in his eyes.

It's true. I finished my last year of school and wouldn't be returning with them next week.

I nod at him. "Yeah, I've finished school."

"Lucky," Vick mumbles.

"So what will you do?" asks Rory.

I stare at him, not following his logic. "What do you mean, what will I do?"

He looks down in his bowl, avoiding my gaze. "I mean, you have to work, right?"

"I already work," I snap. "I bring food home every day, don't I?"

There's a long silence before Rory speaks again.

"I meant in the mines," he says quietly.

I share a glance with my mother. Vick and Posy are too young to remember the death of our father in the mines. Posy hadn't even been born yet. But Rory had been six and remembered it clearly. I had promised her, after my father's death, I would only work in the mines if absolutely necessary. They were far too dangerous and I was far too valuable in the family. But some days, days in the winter when food is scarce, I contemplate joining. For now, they're just thoughts, and it's only a possibility, not a necessity. Yet.

I smile gently at Rory. "I prefer what I do now."

Not a definite answer, but Rory smiles back and doesn't question it. The meal falls back into its usual chatter and I go back to staring mournfully at my empty bowl. The bowl of strawberries Katniss picked are sitting on the table, and I gently reach out to touch them, a physical connection to her.

I miss her. Even distractions aren't long enough.

I feel Rory and my mother's eyes glance at me every so often and Posy and Vick eventually also fall silent, sensing the tension in the atmosphere. They don't know why everyone is so upset, just that they are. Posy's little fist grips my mother's sleeve, and my mother smiles reassuringly in response.

I can't take it anymore. I can't deal with this. I push my chair back, the harsh scraping against the stone floor louder than usual.

"I'm going for a walk," I say.

No one goes for walks in the Seam. There's absolutely nothing to look at except dirty, decrepit buildings and starving families. Everyone is completely silent as I leave the house and stalk out the door, probably wondering about my sanity.

Dusk is just beginning to settle on the Seam, turning everything into an orange haze. What's Katniss doing right now? Is she staring at the same sunset I am? Most likely, she's in a gorgeous Capitol building where the sky is never shown and harsh light bulbs shine all the time, leaving no need for the sun anymore.

They must have fed her. I smile at this. At least she didn't have to go hunt her own meal. It was probably a feast bigger than her or I have ever seen; something I can't even begin to imagine. Delicacies that only come from the Capitol. She should overeat during these beginning festivals, gain some weight and strength for the Games. Or should she? Should she think about the Games at this point, or just enjoy being in a world we'll never be apart of? Enjoy life while she can, instead of worrying about strategy, or vice versa? Maybe a bit of both.

I've been so lost in thought I don't even pay attention to where I'm going, my feet leading me anyway. But of course I end up here. Katniss' house. As expected, the shutters are closed with only dim candlelight visible from the street. Her family has already started their mourning period. My eyes narrow at this thought. They shouldn't be in mourning. Not yet. They should have more confidence in her.

I begin to walk up to the doorstep but stop as I hear the side door open. Prim emerges, dressed in her regular tunic, and I hear her talking to her goat, just a murmur. I peek at her from around the corner of the house and see her smile as she pets the goat, named Lady, that Katniss bought her. Her eyes, from what I can see, aren't red. She hasn't been crying.

At least she hasn't lost hope.

I decide not to disturb their peace just yet. I'll come tomorrow morning instead with some food and maybe watch the opening ceremonies with them if they'll let me. Family should group together in times like this, and Katniss and I are practically family. They would never allow me to grieve alone.

I turn and walk back down the street, away from their home. I don't know how Katniss did it. I love my siblings more than anything in my life, but even what I know I feel for them pales in comparison to Katniss' love for Prim and the bond they share. I've never had that connection with my siblings that she and Prim have. Before Katniss, I used to blame it on the massive age gap between me and Rory, the second oldest. An entire six years, whereas between him and the others, the gaps are much smaller. They play with each other, and I help run the household with my mother.

Now I wonder if it's because I never bothered to be friends with my siblings as well as give them brotherly love. Maybe continual friendship as well as family blood is the key.

I find myself walking to the edge of town, towards the fence that surrounds District Twelve. Once again, my feet have taken me to a place of comfort. I wish I could slide under the gap at the bottom of the fence, but it's too dark to enter the forest now. Many creatures that I cannot kill come out at night, and I could easily turn into prey.

I wonder if Katniss will have to hide from those creatures during the Games. Maybe we should have practiced.

I hear a gentle hum surrounding me but I can't place it. It's unusual to hear anything in this area except the wind. I step to the fence and strain my eyes to see what it is. The hum becomes stronger as I walk towards the forest, and I'm almost touching the fence when it dawns on me.

The fence is an electric fence. Electricity is on and running tonight because of the officials in town. It's been so long since we've had it, I had almost forgotten about its existence.

I run a hand over my eyes. I was so wrapped up in Katniss, I completely forgot about this. These are the worst few weeks in the Seam: the electricity will run non-stop until the beginning of the Games, and then only regularly (but still far more than average) until the end. Now I cannot hunt as often as I do, and I need to feed two families instead of one. Tricky.

I need to find another way through.

So I sit cross-legged at the base of the fence, staring at every part of it. An electric fence with barbed wire at the top. Going over it would be impossible. I can climb a tree and hop over the fence if I can find one...but I can't think of a tree near the edge of the forest. The last one had been cut by locals for wood over two years ago.

I could disable the fence in sections...but how? How did we do it last year?

_ "Let's just go under the fence," says Katniss, looking longingly at the forest beyond._

_It had been four days since our last hunt and we were desperate for all kinds of supplies. We had hardly any meat left for our families. Influenza had spread throughout the Seam and her mother was out of herbs. Prim and Vick needed new hats and mittens for the winter, as their old ones didn't fit their growing frames._

_"Don't even bother. It's too risky," I say._

_She bites her lip, staring at the small hole she usually crawls through._

_"I could make it without touching the sides," she argues._

_We both crouch to get a better look at the hole._

_"Less than an inch in any direction and I'll be having Catnip stew for dinner," I say._

_A small snort of laughter emerges from her mouth._

_I grin, flirting with her, wanting to see more of that smile. "I wouldn't have to hunt for at least a week. This is looking better and better."_

_She smiles her real smile, with her tongue peeking through her teeth._

_"My mother wouldn't even have to start a fire. I'd already be fried," she says._

_She turns to grin at me, and I want to laugh. I know we're only joking. But what if it really happened? I'd lose her in an instant. Her face fades when she sees my serious one._

_"I can fit, Gale"._

_She only ever used my name when she was trying to convey something important; to make me listen. Still, I shook my head._

_"No. C'mon, we'll find another way."_

But there was no other way. Instead, we woke up early the next day, just as the slightest pink was touching the sky, and snuck through the fence before the electricity had been turned on. It was risky, but we had survived. I'd have to do the same tomorrow.

I hear footsteps behind me and turn to face Rory, treading carefully through the dirt, straining to see in the now-complete darkness.

"What are you doing?" he asks, sitting down next to me.

I don't want to worry him about food supplies. "Just remembering," I answer.

He picks at a small stone wedged in the dirt. "You miss her already?"

I say nothing, staring at him. After a moment, he looks away awkwardly. "Sorry."

Rory sits next to me for the next few minutes saying nothing, leaving us in a comfortable silence. He rolls the stone between his fingers.

"I don't know if I could do it," he finally whispers.

I turn to face him, but he won't look at me. "Do what?"

"What she did," he says.

He looks incredibly guilty and I place a hand on his shoulder gently.

"You never know what you'll do in those situations," I say. "Just wait until Posy is twelve. You'll feel differently."

He shrugs my hand off his shoulder, embarrassed by it. "Do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Feel differently."

I nod immediately. "If it was you, I would have done the same," I say, and I know in my heart it's true.

He continues to pick at the ground and I notice he's trembling beside me. Then I remember this was his first reaping and punch his arm lightly. He must be so relieved. I remember I was, the first time.

"Hey," I say. "One down, six to go."

He smiles at me tightly, but I see his face is pale. "Yeah."

We're silent for a few more minutes, listening to the rustles of trees in the distance.

"Gale?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"Mm?"

There's a long pause. "I don't want to do that again next year," he says.

I close my eyes. This is the first time he's ever opened up to me, and I don't know what to say. I don't want him to do it next year, either. But more than that, I hope he hasn't been saying this around town. Peacekeepers could pick him up and take him away from us, somewhere I'll never see him again. Children at school will ostracize him.

"You'll only have two votes," I say instead.

It's the best reassurance I can give him. I refuse to ever let him take out a tesserae and he knows it, but I can't stop the Hunger Games from adding a slip of paper with his name on it every year. He nods and shifts a little closer to me, and I hang my arm over his shoulder again, like a brother would do. This is the longest social conversation I've ever had with Rory, even though it's stilted, and I'm not sure what to make of it. But I can tell it's not over.

"Gale?" he asks again.

"Yeah?"

"Do you love her?"

My throat tightens as I think of Katniss. I follow his gaze to the small hole she crawls through to get to the forest. He must follow us in the mornings if he knows where it is, but I don't question him about it. He's been through enough for today.

"Yeah," I say, but my voice is hoarse. "Yeah, I do."

He looks at me with hardened eyes. "I will never fall in love."

I let out a real laugh since the first time since this morning. "It's not something you plan," I say.

Rory throws the rock against the fence angrily, and we listen to the humming increase for a split second before it becomes gentle again.

"What's the point?" he says in frustration. "How can anyone fall in love in this place? When either you or her could be taken away every single year. If you have kids, it's just more mouths to feed, and then you watch _them _being taken away. Or they get sick or they starve or they get blown up in the mine. So what's the goddamn point?"

My heart breaks a little more listening to my brother's view on life. I don't want him to think this way. So I force him to face me, gripping his shoulders tight with my hands.

"Listen to me. Are you listening? Being in love is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Katniss was-IS the best thing that has ever happened. It makes every day worth it, Rory, just to see her face. It makes living in this place," I say, waving at the Seam behind us, "worth it. And even though she might not come back, at least I can say I had those feelings. That for one small part of my life, four years, I was happy. So don't ever think that way, okay? One day you'll fall in love and it'll be worth the heartbreak."

My voice is low and urgent, and he stares at me with widened eyes, but there's some understanding in them. I don't even know if the last part I said is true. My heart is slowly dying on the inside, bit by bit with every minute that ticks by, and the pain when I talk about Katniss is so strong I can hardly breathe. But he has to believe it. Hope can't be gone by the age of twelve or he'll never make it through the next six years of his life. It's my job to worry.

"Okay," he whispers.

He nods frantically and I know I've scared him. I sigh, pushing myself to my feet, waiting for him to do the same.

"We should head home," I say.

He sniffs, nods again, and falls into step behind me as we follow the small road back into town. I help my mother get Posy into bed, make sure the house is clean and the food is properly put away, and slide into the larger bed next to Vick and Rory, both snoring softly.

It's only much, much later in the evening, as I lie in bed submerged in my thoughts, that I understand the conversation with Rory.

He's in love.

And after seeing me with Katniss, he's scared to death.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three of Thirteen:**

I try to sleep, but I only manage a light doze throughout the night. Admitting defeat, I finally pull myself out of bed before the mockingjay sings. It's still dark outside as I make my way through the house as quietly as I can, carrying my boots in my hand so I won't wake my family.

I can barely see outside and I have to pull on my boots by feel, but I know this is a good sign. It means the electricity has not yet been turned on. The streets are deserted and every home is dark, giving the District an eerie feel. Even the miners aren't awake yet.

I quickly make my way to the edge of District Twelve, listening for the hum at the fence. Only silence greets me, but I touch the metal with lightning speed just to make sure. Nothing happens, and I squeeze my way through a hole at the bottom and into the forest.

I've never been in the forest this early. I take my bow out from behind a tree and unwrap it from its waterproof shell. This used to be Katniss' bow. I want to feel a connection to her in the forest, but it only serves as another reminder than I'm here alone for the first time in four years.

Katniss and I usually hunt twice a week, but during the Games we could only manage to on Sundays. We brought home enough meat yesterday, so the bow is merely a precaution. Today is meant for checking traps and collecting. If they aren't checked on a regular basis, I'm faced with rotting food the next time I come. It's one of the few things that makes me feel like crying - food wasted.

As I make my way through the forest, there's a constant chill down my back, a subtle feeling that I'm being watched, but I ignore it. It's too strange to be in here without Katniss protecting me as I protect her. My right side, where she usually walks, is too empty and makes me feel vulnerable. I'm not part of a team anymore, but a single individual. A branch snaps behind me and I spin, my bow poised and ready to aim. But it's only a squirrel, jumping from tree to tree. I start breathing deeply and try to slow my heart as I continue walking. My entire body is on high-alert, from both being alone and in the dark, a deadly combination. But I had done it for months before Katniss appeared in the forest and I know I can do it now. It used to be my turf.

After my father's death, money ran out quickly. The compensation they gave us, which was supposed to last a month, barely lasted a week. We had to pay the midwife for helping with Posy's birth, and after that we had nothing left. I took out three tesserae's that year just to keep us from starvation. But it was never enough. It was then, with ten slips of paper already waiting for me at the age of thirteen, I had started to consider running away.

I had been walking the edge of the fence, trying to convince myself it would be better if I stayed in the Seam instead of running away. I couldn't leave my siblings. I'd have no where to go and no guarantee of food. I stared into the forest, wondering if it was worth it. Just then, a squirrel passed by on the opposite side of the fence, only a foot away from me. A real, live squirrel. I had never seen one before, staring after it in shock as it disappeared deeper into the forest.

It was then the memory came to me: once a year, during the Games, my father would bring home an animal. A squirrel, a rabbit, sometimes a bird. He used to say he picked it up from the market. My mother would put it into some kind of broth, making it almost unrecognizable and barely enough meat to feed the six of us. She even pulled me aside to tell me not to talk about it in school: buying from the Hob was highly illegal, she had said. But watching this squirrel, barely an inch from my nose, I started to piece things together.

I never really knew my father. He was the man who was gone before I woke up and returned long after I had gone to bed. My mother never spoke of him while he was away, only using him as a threat ("Just _wait_ until your father gets home!"). I'll never understand why she said that . He was a gentle as they come. I remember sitting on his knee during dinner and watching him hold Vick shortly after he was born, but most memories are fuzzy. I couldn't help but wonder: did he hunt?

I had raced home as fast as my feet would go, slamming the door to our house and scaring my mother to death.

"Dad hunted, didn't he?" I had asked.

My mother's eyes widened for only a second, looking around the room to see who had heard, but no one was home. It was all I needed in way of an answer. I sat across from her at the kitchen table, grabbing her hands tightly in mine.

"I can hunt," I had said. "I just need supplies. Did he have any supplies?"

She had stared at me for an indescribable amount of time, her gray eyes searching mine. Finally she had nodded. She pulled her hands away from my own and stood up, walking to the only wardrobe in the house. Reaching behind it, she had pulled out a lump of cloth, bundling it in her hands as she walked back to the table. She handed it to me and I unravelled it.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

There were knives of all sizes, gleaming and ready for me. There was also a small, old book, which turned out to be the most valuable of all. Inside, in a stranger's handwriting, were notes: where he set his traps, how to set them, where to enter the fence. Everything was there, as if laid out for me specifically.

"These were your great-grandfather's," my mother had said softly. I glanced at her, and she gave me a watery smile. "Your father was a terrible hunter. Barely ever caught a damn thing."

I had learned slowly after that. The book had helped me get started: it taught me where to kill animals, how to kill them and the different kinds in the forest. It taught me basic traps, hunting and basic gathering skills, but a book is only a book and everything took months of practice. My mother had cried in relief when I brought home my first kill: a rabbit, after two weeks of trying.

Selling my food in the Hob was the worst. They didn't know who I was or if they could trust me, and it took months of trial-and-error (and many bad deals) before I understood how to barter and who to sell to. But after six months, I had become an expert. The forest became my playground, my privacy and my home. It still is.

It takes twice as long to make it through the forest due to the blackness. I stop by the stream, eating a breakfast of berries from a nearby bush and waiting for enough light to see in the dense forest. I check my fish traps, but they're still empty. Fish are hard to come by.

I reach my first set of snares just as light is beginning to penetrate through the trees. Two rabbits hang in the air, out of reach from carnivorous animals in the forest. I smile at their hanging bodies, a decent size. I can easily sell them in the market for supplies. It had taken me weeks to figure out this method, frustrated after returning morning after morning to find a half-eaten body in my snares. Katniss had loved it when she first discovered them. In fact, it was here, in this very spot, that I met her.

I had officially met her before, of course. The Seam is a relatively small area, and although we keep to ourselves, everyone knows the community names. She was in school with me, only two years younger, but she kept to herself, eating lunch alone. I'll never figure out why. She's pretty enough to make friends. She just never did.

It was an early Sunday in October, almost four years ago. I remember the chill in the air and my hot breath practically turning into ice in front of me. I had been emptying these traps and attaching the rabbits to my belt, my mind already trying to decide who would give me the best price. Suddenly, there was footsteps behind me, moving fast, and in a panic I had hit the ground, crawling toward the nearest tree and hiding behind it.

As the heavy footsteps came closer and closer, I was positive it was the Peacekeepers coming to take me away. I remember hoping I would just get a severe whipping - anything but death - when Katniss had rounded the corner and into my view.

I had gawked at her. She was only twelve, small enough the traps hung high over her head. A dead squirrel was hanging from her belt. I immediately recognized her from the medal ceremony, but she looked different, somehow: stronger, maybe. She walked closer to my traps and I tightened my fists, angry that she was going to steal my food. I wondered if she had been stalking me.

But she didn't touch the rabbits. In fact, she seemed more interested in the traps, walking around to examine them. She may have had a bow, but her noisy approach meant she was juvenile. She knew nothing of the forest or else my presence would have been obvious. Deciding on an element of surprise, I stepped out from behind the tree.

"That's dangerous," I said.

She had spun around, her hand quickly going to her bow. I saw her eyes flick down to the rabbits around my belt, and I felt a wave of pride that I was the better hunter. I moved to stand over her, refusing to be intimidated.

"What's your name?"

She stared up at me, but her eyes didn't look remotely scared. I was starting to doubt my initial interpretation when she answered.

"Katniss," she had whispered.

_Pretty name_, I thought. I heard her say it, but I wanted her to think she was out of her element. I grinned, looking down into her pretty gray eyes.

"Well, Catnip, stealing's punishable by death, or hadn't you heard?" I teased.

Her eyes had hardened. "Katniss," she corrected me. "And I wasn't stealing it. I just wanted to look at your snare. Mine never catch anything."

I had come across old, barely put together snares and assumed they were old snares my father, or those another, old hunter had put together. They were in the worst locations and too loose, making it easy for animals to escape. I had wanted to laugh at her, saying she couldn't catch a thing, but then I remembered the squirrel hanging from her belt. My eyebrows furrowed.

"So where'd you get the squirrel?" I asked.

"I shot it," she said, looking proudly down at it.

It was then that she pulled out her bow. A real bow. I had barely noticed it before, but now it was in front of me. It was beautiful. My mouth practically watered as I stared at it.

"Can I see that?" I asked, already reaching out to touch it.

She held it out to me without hesitation. "Just remember, stealing's punishable by death," she said.

I saw the glint in her eyes, realized she was teasing me, and had smiled. She had my sense of humour. I should have known then I would fall in love with her.

We made a deal that day, a bow of hers for my superior knowledge. My side was far more valuable, but childishly I wanted a bow. We worked together warily at first, not sure of the other's intentions, but slowly settled into a routine. It took months for me to trust her - my father always said to never trust a pretty girl - but I couldn't help myself. I had fallen in love.

Her companionship in the forest became everything to me. She listened and allowed me to rant about anything on my mind: the Capitol, my school days and even my family, knowing I wasn't completely serious and understanding my feelings all the same. She was my confidante and my friend, and I dreamed at night she would become something more. But it never happened.

And now she's gone.

I hope she remembers the lessons I gave her, all those years ago. I hope fear doesn't make her forget to set traps. And more than anything, I hope she finds a bow.

I gather the rabbits and reset the snares, pick the berries up off the ground and head back towards the Seam. I don't want to get caught in the forest until the electricity turns off again. But, just as I reach the fence, a nagging feeling enters my gut and I turn back to where I came from.

And there it is. One lone rabbit in Katniss' snare. I pull it off, tucking it away for good measure. Then I touch the snare gently with my hands and admire her work. She's going to be fine in the Games. If anyone can survive, it's her.

I head quickly back towards the fence before the power is switched on.

* * *

My first stop is usually the Hob, but as I reenter civilization, the miners are just leaving their homes for the day and the morning chill is still in the air. Illegal traders are a lazy bunch. I'll have to keep the rabbits until the afternoon at least.

I make my way back home, quietly pulling off my boots before entering the house. My family is still sleeping peacefully, and I can hear their heavy breathing from across the room as I put away the rabbits. I carefully put away Katniss' rabbit into a metal bucket so nothing with get at it, then go to wake my mother.

Mother always likes to be the first one up and I often wake her before I leave to hunt. I gently shake her awake, and her eyes open wide without any grogginess. She looks at my hunting clothes, smiling, and then the dirt on my hands, the smile fading before she sits up, glancing at Rory and Vick still asleep in the other bed. Her eyes come back to glare at me.

I smile, place my finger to my lips and point outside. She steps into her shoes and follows without hesitation. Once the door is quietly closed, she places her hand on her hip accusingly.

"You didn't wake me," she says.

I laugh softly. "I went before the sun rose," I say. "Wanted to avoid, y'know, getting electrocuted."

Her eyes soften as she realizes the time and she looks apologetic. "Oh. Did you bring breakfast?" she asks.

I nod. "There's four rabbits, but only one is for us. I'll sell them and the berries when the market opens," I say, then hesitate. "There's a rabbit in the pail for the Everdeen's. It was in Katniss' trap."

She smiles and reaches out to touch my arm. "I'll keep it safe. Get some rest."

We open the door and go back inside. Vick and Rory have spread out over my space in the bed, so I take my mother's bed with Posy tucked into the corner. I close my eyes and listen to her bustle around the house with morning chores, sweeping the floors that never stay clean. She begins to hum under her breath, a song with no real tune, and I fall asleep listening.

When I wake again, the sun is shining much higher in the sky, not yet noon. The bed's are all empty, but I hear Posy's cheerful voice outside. I stretch and raise from the bed, pulling on my shoes. Before heading outside, I check to make sure Katniss' rabbit is still in the pail. It is. I'm relieved - food never lasts long in a family of five.

Posy sits playing with her dolls just outside the door as my mother washes some dirty rags in a pot. She looks up at me and smiles.

"Hi Gale," she says.

"Hi, Posy," I say as I crouch down to her level. "Whatcha doing?"

"Gettin' married," she says casually, lining up her two dolls.

I look down at the two dolls I whittled her while in the forest, neither with any distinguishable features, including sex. There are deep grooves in their bodies where I had sliced too far, making them mangled. I was never very good at whittling.

"Yeah? Who's your husband?" I say, and try to look impressed. I don't know if it works.

"Styn Oakley," she replies.

I laugh. Styn Oakley is a boy down the road, only a year older than Posy. He has blonde hair that sticks in every direction, dark brown eyes and is always seen with scrapes on his knees. I have no idea why she chose him as her husband. There probably isn't a reason, him just being the first boy that came to mind.

I smooth her hair back. "Congratulations, Mrs. Oakley," I say.

I get a beaming smile before she promptly goes back to ignoring me, murmuring under her breath as she retreats to her fantasy world. Everyone in District Twelve knows better than to disturb a fantasy world, it being the only relief from this one. I stand up and wince at my stiff legs from crouching for so long, then make my way toward my mother.

She's scrubbing at the shirt I wore yesterday with a deep frown of frustration on her face. The shirt is covered in dirt from lounging on the forest floor with Katniss. Every time she takes a swipe at it, it's another connection to Katniss that has disappeared. I watch with mournful eyes, but she doesn't notice, too involved in her work.

"Gale, do you hunt in the forest or just roll around with the animals?" she suddenly asks.

I should have known better than to try to go unnoticed by my mother. She really does miss nothing. I guess having four children does that to you.

"A little of both. Sometimes we wrestle, but the bears always beat me. I've got the strength, but they've got the claws," I say, grinning at her.

She smiles as she scrubs harder. "I always taught you to play nice with the other children," she teases.

"Oh, my mistake. I should have added that I _let_ them beat me," I tease.

She laughs and continues to scrub. It's nice to hear my mother laugh. After my father's death, she barely smiled for two years.

"Here," she says, handing me a pile of freshly washed clothes. "Hang these on the line for me?"

There's only a certain time of day you can do laundry in the Seam. It has to be before the processing plant really gets to work, which covers the world in a layer of ash. I hang all the clothes on the line carefully, watching our neighbours do the same. I kiss my mother on her cheek, ruffle Posy's curls, and walk back in the house to collect my things.

It's an easy walk to the Hob, but unlike most days, the streets bustle with people who walk towards the square. I hear the echo of crowds in the distance and realize they're walking to the giant television screens, as the opening ceremonies should be starting soon. Really soon. I have to see Katniss.

I run the rest of the way into town to sell the rabbits. The baker told Katniss and I only yesterday that he would like some, but I can't bring myself to go there. Things have changed now, anyway, with his son being in the Games. I doubt he wants them anymore. I wander through the Hob, looking for potential buyers, but even my regulars look at me with pity. I realize it's because, for the first time in years, I'm here alone. The outside world may not know my relationship with Katniss, but the illegal one sure does. I end up selling them to a merchant in the Hob looking for some basic meat. He gives me two pounds of potatoes in exchange and I get out of there as quickly as I can.

I hesitate when I pass the square. Maybe Prim and her mother have gone there instead to look for comfort instead of being alone. I race toward the square to check, but the screens only show the screaming crowd from the Capitol. I walk to an elderly man I sell to often. His order plays in my mind: a squirrel every other week in exchange for three coins. His face lights up with recognition as I approach him.

"How soon until District Twelve?" I ask.

"I'd say just under an hour," he says, glancing at the screens. "They're still doing opening announcements."

I nod my thanks and walk out of the square as casually as I can. When I reach the edges, I break out into a full run to Katniss' home. The shutters are still closed and the front door tightly locked and bolted. I try in vain to slow my fast breath before knocking. I hear a shuffle in the house and the door opens a crack, Prim looking through it. I smile, but it's forced.

"I bring food," I say, holding the potatoes out to show her.

"Gale!" she says in greeting, and the door opens wider to let me in.

The Everdeen's house has virtually the same layout as my own: a main area for the kitchen, a rickety wardrobe in the corner and two beds in a small alcove on the side. One is freshly made, as though no one has slept in it, and I feel my heart clench as I figure out why.

I set the potatoes on the table just as Mrs. Everdeen appears inside from the small side door.

She smiles tightly at me and turns to a small basket by the door. I watch her wipe her hands on a dirty cloth and set it aside. Her face is paler than usual with creases on her forehead, and she seems much older than she did yesterday.

"Mom, look what Gale brought! Potatoes! We can have stew tonight. Won't that be nice?" Prim says, examining the vegetables.

I can hear in her voice the excitement is forced, but my heart warms with gratitude. Prim is trying and refusing to give up hope. Always the optimist about her sister, I know her spirits will keep her mother and I from falling apart. It helps me to put a smile on my own face.

"Hi, Mrs. Everdeen. I also have this," I say, pulling out the rabbit from my coat pocket.

Prim squeals in delight at the sight of the brown rabbit.

"Oh, Gale," her mother says, "You didn't have to. You and Kat...you both brought us rabbits only yesterday."

Her voice breaks and we both wince. I realize now this is going to be harder than I thought, but we have to persevere. Katniss would want us to stay together, and I think her mother realizes that as well. We shouldn't avoid her name or try to ignore her very obvious absence in our lives.

"I found it in one of Katniss' snares this morning. If I left it, it would only rot. But I can go to the Hob later and exchange it if you want me to," I say, forcing my tone to sound casual. I need them to realize the importance of this rabbit.

She shakes her head and begins to put the rabbit and potatoes away. "No, no. Primrose is right. We'll have stew tonight. We'll need the strength, after all."

There's silence in the small house and I wonder for a moment if they want me to leave. Her mother puts the food away with a stiff back, and Prim toes the ground with her shoe. But I won't. I need them. They have to realize that. I clear my throat.

"I think we should stick together now, more than ever," I say. "All three of us. We should-"

Before I can even finish my thought, both women throw themselves into my arms and I stumble backwards. Hands squeeze me tightly against them.

"You're family. Of course we'll stick together," her mother mumbles against my neck.

"I'll give you Katniss' portion of milk in the mornings," Prim says. "It's not much, but..."

Her mother pulls away from me, gripping my shoulders tightly. "We don't want you to do all the work," she finishes. "We'll do our share to help you, too."

Prim nods, determined.

I smile, the first real smile today, and pull Prim back against me. I never expected them to give back, but I shouldn't be surprised. No one likes to owe anyone anything in the Seam. I know now we'll get through this together, somehow. Starting right now.

"I thought we could go to the square to watch the ceremonies," I suggest, acting indifferent. "It...might help prepare us, get us use to seeing her on the screens."

Her mother winces again at the thought but pulls herself together quickly. She wraps a shawl around her arms and takes Prim's hand, her chin jutting upward.

"Yes," she says. "That's exactly what we'll do. Get out of the house and surround ourselves with people. We'll show them that the Everdeens and company are not ready to mourn."

"That's what I've been telling you all day!" Prim pipes in, but her mother shushes her.

I laugh and wait as they quickly gather their things. Mrs. Everdeen opens all the shutters, letting light pour into the darkened room. Prim makes sure her goat is tied tightly to its fence. Then they put on their shoes and we walk out into the sunshine together, a trio ready to face the world.

* * *

It's complete and utter chaos in the square. The screens are giant and are much better quality than our small, dirty televisions at home. People walk around holding out trays of food and other luxury items, trying to make a buck that no one in the Seam has to give.

I feel a sweaty hand slip into mine and look down to Prim, staring at me with her bright blue eyes. She looks so out of place in comparison to everyone's dark complexions.

"Nothing bad happens today, right?" she asks me.

She looks terrified and I don't blame her. No one wants to watch their loved one die a brutal death in front of their eyes. I quickly shake my head and give her hand a squeeze.

"No," I say firmly. "Today we get to see her all dressed up in a costume with Peeta. She'll wave at the crowd and try to get sponsors. Nothing bad will happen."

Prim nods, taking my word for it, but her hand doesn't leave mine. I see on the other side she grips her mother's hand also, making us into a string. Secretly, I'm grateful. I don't want to face this alone. Posy is too young to understand the Games, and neither Vick or Rory would be caught dead holding my hand.

The thought of them makes me look around the crowd, trying to spot them. I finally see them off in the distance with their friends, chatting and laughing together. Friends. I had totally forgotten I had friends other than Katniss. I never even hung out with Katniss during school, only during hunting times. At school, I had my own group of friends who I saw every day for years. I wonder where they all went.

Nails biting into my palm brings me back into reality. Prim practically bounces up and down as she raises both our hands, still connected, and points at the screen.

"Look," she cries. "It's starting!"

I hear the opening music of the ceremonies boom through hidden speakers and the crowd around us slowly falls silent. We all raise our heads to the screen to watch the show. Although we are quiet, the crowd at the Capitol are not, waving flags in the air and hollering.

"What have they got on their faces?" Prim says in horror, and I laugh.

Because she's right. Everyone from the Capitol has strange coloured eyebrows - pinks, blues, purples - and matching eyelashes the same colour. I wonder how they do that, but realize I don't care. The money spent on their aesthetic hair would probably buy me a month's worth of bread in the Seam. Everyone in the Capitol is so fucking wasteful.

The giant doors of the Tribute Building open and a chariot with white horses comes out. The camera zooms in on the tributes from District One, covered in glitter and jewels. The crowd at the Capitol goes wild. The crowd in the District Twelve square hums and haws. There's something completely satisfactory about that.

The camera pans the crowd, stopping on a women with bright purple hair as she hysterically cries, reaching her hand out to touch the tributes. The boy in the chariot grasps it and she faints, disappearing into the throng of people.

I see Prim tug her mother's hand. "How can I get purple hair?" she whispers.

I laugh as Mrs. Everdeen looks at me in horror. "There's nothing wrong with your beautiful golden hair!" she whispers back.

Prim's face falls. I lean down to whisper in her ear. "We'll mash some berries on your head and see if the dye takes," I say.

Her beaming face at my reply will make the two hours of collecting berries worth it.

Slowly, the tributes pass through the streets of the Capitol and into a giant circle in the center of their own square, much more beautiful then ours will ever be. Every tribute pair is dressed according to their District, and slowly the costumes diminish in grandeur as the Districts become poorer. The past few years, District Twelve tributes have been rolled in coal or wore miner's outfits. It's not attractive and doesn't give them many sponsors, but I know Katniss is beautiful enough to pull it off. Peeta, I'm not so sure.

District Eleven, agriculture, wears fruit on their bodies with crowns made of berries. I have to laugh. I wonder how they can go so long without eating it. If it were me, I would have picked it clean by the time I entered the gate.

The sky outside is beginning to darken when finally it's District Twelve. The crowd around us go quiet, and I feel an equal amount of eyes on us instead of the screen. Prim grips my hand tighter and I give her a reassuring squeeze. Shivers of nervous anticipation flash throughout my body. My eyes flick to Mrs. Everdeen, and she's whispering something under her breath. I never find out what it is, though, because a silver chariot with coal black horses comes through the massive doors and the camera zooms in.

For what seems like an eternity, I forget how to breathe.

On the screen, Katniss looks as floored as I feel. Her face is completely astonished as she sees the sight before her, and I realize the roar of the crowd must be overwhelming. But she doesn't realize how beautiful she looks.

The basic uniform is like all others in the ceremonies: a simple black unitard that clings to every dip and curve of her body and slim boots that end just below her knee. But it's the fire that makes her beautiful: it blazes off of her and Peeta in waves, her cape fluttering behind her as it leaves a trail of sparkle in its place. It's not even describable.

"She's on fire!" someone screams in the crowd.

"No, look, she's smiling! It can't be real!" someone else points out.

And then, for the first time in years, District Twelve erupts in laughter, shrieking and clapping, elated that our tributes are the most beautiful of all. I pump my fist in the air, getting lost in the emotions of the crowd. She's going to have sponsors. She's going to have money. She's going to win.

I rip my eyes away for a second to look at Prim and her mother. Their mouths hang open and tears glimmer in their eyes, which reflect the fire on the screen. Her mother feels my glance and leans over Prim.

"Do you think it hurts her?" she asks in a wobbly voice, referring to the fire.

I glance back at the screen. The audience is right - Katniss is smiling. Actually grinning from ear to ear, her dimples a shadow in the brightness of the flames. I realize then her hair is in her trademark braid, with no Capitol cosmetics on her face. I breathe a sigh of thanks to whoever her stylist is: despite the beautiful costume, he recognized her natural beauty. There is no need to cover it up as it would shine through regardless.

I turn back to Mrs. Everdeen and shake my head.

"Look at her," is all I say.

Prim speaks up, still looking at the screen. "She's beautiful."

After that, all three of us are silent as we watch her and listen to our community in an uproar. The camera pans away from her and Peeta every so often, but it's back to them as soon as it can. I barely remember Peeta is in the chariot with her - I can't keep my eyes off of Katniss and her beauty. She blows kisses to the crowd and one to a camera. I can't help but feel it was directed at me, and I close my hand by my side, secretly catching it.

I love to see her this happy.

I feel Prim tugging my hand again and I look down at her, unable to keep the grin off my face. It's contagious, and soon she's grinning as wide as I am. She pulls me down to her level and yells in my ear. Despite that, I can barely hear her and have to ask her to repeat herself three times.

"Look. At. Her. Hands!" she screams at me, and I glance back up at the screen.

And then freeze.

She and Peeta are holding hands. Not even a loose grip, but tightly with their fingers entwined, clinging to the other as they face the crowd. The camera catches them grinning at each other, and a strange look I can't decipher passes between them. They inch closer together as they wave at the crowd.

The sinking feeling is back in my gut. They've created a friendship. It's the worst thing that could possibly happen. Because now she has to kill him, or he her, despite looking like a team now. It's a bond that will, without a doubt, be broken. I'm suddenly angry at their team for presenting them as such. I don't understand the reason behind it. It couldn't have been Katniss' idea. She would never do that.

My smile fades as I look down to Prim, but I realize she doesn't understand what's wrong with the picture. She's grinning broadly, happy that Katniss has found a friend, and I won't ruin that for her. She has enough to deal with.

And then, far too soon, Katniss is gone, the chariot pulling her back into the building as the doors close behind her. The electricity cuts out as soon as the door closes and the square begins to empty out. But I notice they're in much higher spirits then they were yesterday, realizing as I do that now District Twelve won't be forgotten. We actually have a fighting chance.

I catch Mrs. Everdeen's eye as I walk them back to their home, trying to see if she feels the same confusion I do. But she grins at me instead.

"I'm just glad she wasn't naked," she says.

A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop myself. Last year, the stylists made the tributes of District Twelve dance around completely naked and covered in soot. It brings me back into perspective. Right now, I have to enjoy myself, but even more than that, Katniss has to enjoy herself, even if it means creating a friendship with Peeta. Because as soon as she enters the arena, fun won't exist in her world anymore.

She should enjoy the time she has left.

I hate myself for thinking that way.

I drop the Everdeens back at their house, helping them clean up for the night and taking the extra bag of potatoes with me as I leave. It's completely dark out by the time I make it home, and Posy is already asleep in her bed. I give her a gentle kiss after I hand my mother the potatoes.

"The boys tell me Katniss looked beautiful. I heard she was engulfed in flames!" my mother whispers to me.

I hum in agreement, not wanting to talk about it.

"And I heard she was holding that boy's hand. It's nice that they formed a friendship like that," she continues conversationally.

I pull off my shirt and slide into the corner of the bed. "Goodnight, Mother."

I hope she takes the hint.

She does.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four of Twelve:**

There's no new coverage of Katniss on the television for the next week. I race home every chance I get, pushing Vick and Rory out of the way to catch a glimpse of her face and make sure she's all right, but there's nothing. Instead they play and replay the coverage of the opening ceremony, pulling out cheesy lines like "District Twelve is on _fire_ this year!" and "They've pulled through in a _blaze _of glory!" At least no one will forget their faces.

After the third day of racing home and tracking in mud on the freshly-cleaned floor, just to see yet again reruns, I slam my head on the kitchen table and place my hands over it. I hear my mother sigh at the mud, but she places her hand on my back anyway.

"She's in training right now. You know they're not allowed to film it, Gale. Others Districts could send their tributes valuable information which would hurt Katniss," she says.

She's right. I know she's right. But it doesn't stop the burning curiosity and constant wonder if she's okay. It doesn't stop the revolting thoughts of _I just want to see her one last time_ that race through my mind every second of the day.

There are more pressing matters to deal with. My life can't stop just because she's in training. If not for me, then my family. Although they've put up with my behaviour in the past few days, I know they're suffering under the strain of housework. So I go through the motions, starting with the roof: it's sprung a leak, and I really don't want to kill fifty rabbits just to get the supplies to salvage it.

But even work doesn't distract my thoughts. I hope she's not using her bow or setting traps in the training center in front of the other tributes. Peeta's father buys game from us, so he must know her skills; if he shoots his mouth off to the other tributes, I'll kill him myself if he returns. I hope she's actually taking the time to practice a skill she doesn't know: how to use a sword, for instance. Even if she just spends her time lifting weights and building her endurance it'll make me feel better.

I think of Haymitch, drunk on stage. Every year he's been a source of amusement among District Twelve. He's always been something to make the Hunger Games just a little bit better, as he yells and dances inebriated on stage. But now dread settles in my stomach as I realize how bad this is for Katniss. He's supposed to be coaching her, training her, and half the time he wanders around the Seam so drunk he doesn't even know where he is. More than once we've stepped over his unconscious body as he lay in the streets in his own vomit. Her mentor is utterly useless to her. She's still on her own.

I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts. Hunting in the forest has now returned to what it used to be: stressful, half wondering if I'll be caught and murdered, the other half wondering if I'll ever have enough food to feed two families. She used to make it fun and take away the anxiety of being on my own. Now it's just a dangerous job, a chore I'm forced to do rather than enjoying it. But I have to go in the morning: I have more mouths to feed and I'm only one person, so hunting once a week isn't going to cut it anymore.

I finish repairing the roof with Rory's help. Repairing is probably a generous term to use. I know it'll be leaking again in a few months, but hopefully I'll have saved up enough to buy a proper patch. Rory looks at me and I know he's thinking the same.

"I could hunt with you," he offers as I help him down the roof. "The more animals, the more money."

I shake my head. I don't want another companion in the forest. It seems wrong, somehow, like I'm already replacing Katniss. I know if I told her this, she would roll her eyes and hit me over the head with her bow.

"No," I say. "I'll manage. I don't want you in the forest."

But Rory holds my arm to keep me from walking into the house. "I can do it," he says earnestly. "I may not be Katniss, but I can learn."

I watch him for a moment. Rory isn't graceful by any means: he's short, stocky and lumbers wherever he goes. But I could use an extra set of hands - and eyes - when I'm out in the forest. He can help me carry all the supplies.

He sees my hesitation and jumps at the chance.

"Look," he says, "I know it's dangerous. But what will we do if something happens to you? You're the only one who has any skill. At least teach me the basics. Please. If I'm old enough to fight in the Games, I can hunt a few rabbits."

It's the killer blow. Just because I'm eighteen doesn't mean my life is any safer than it was at the reaping. The Hunger Games are the least of the Seam's problems. Starvation, disease and mining accidents are by far a more painful way to die. Even Katniss and I agreed once: I'd rather take an arrow to the head than starve.

I could get mauled by an animal in the forest, or fall ill, or even get struck by lightning. And that would leave my family with nothing, forcing all my siblings to take out a tesserae. He's right, too, that if he can fight against people he can fight an animal. But I know I'll do everything I can to prevent that. I weigh my options. Finally, I nod at Rory. Excitement floods his face.

"Fine, but you won't be doing any hunting. You'll watch my back and carry the supplies and it's just until school starts. Deal?" I say and poke him in the chest for emphasis.

"Great," he says enthusiastically. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow. Four in the morning."

I walk down the main road without looking back, smiling as I listen to him try to choke down his surprise. It serves him right for trying to guilt-trip me.

I make my daily route to the Everdeen's small house and let myself in without knocking. Mrs. Everdeen said it was just easier that way, especially now that we consider ourselves family. Prim is sitting at the kitchen table, sewing what looks like a small square of cloth. She doesn't look up as I sit down next to her, her face in complete concentration. I stand up again and check their supplies, making sure they have enough wood, food and water for the evening. They're running low on all three, and I take a bucket down the community well, filling it up. We're supposed to have running water, but it turns on and off regularly. Nothing in the Seam is forever.

By the time I come back, Prim is putting the final touches on her item and Mrs. Everdeen is still nowhere to be found. I put the bucket down and cover it before again sitting next to Prim. This time, she looks at me and smiles.

"Hi, Gale," she says.

"Hey, you," I reply. "Where's your mother?"

"She's with the Mellarks," she says, and my eyebrows raise. "She and Mr. Mellark have been spending a lot of time together lately. Mrs. Mellark's apparently locked herself in the bedroom and won't come out."

I don't question it. I don't even have an inkling what it would be like to lose a child to the Hunger Games, and it's good they're supporting each other. Maybe she's getting free bread.

Prim looks at me with worried eyes. "Our television has been foggy and they haven't come to fix it. Have you seen Katniss yet?"

I shake my head. "No, not yet. We'll see her when they announce the scores, though."

"When will that be?" Prim sighs.

"Soon. Really soon," I say, and I hope it's true.

Just then, the door opens with a loud bang and people are filling the small room. Mr. Mullney, a neighbour from down the road, walks in with his wife in his arms, who is an eerie shade of white. He's breathing heavy under the exertion and I turn to see three of his children troop in behind him, all under ten. Prim jumps up and clears the table within seconds, and he's placing his wife down on it. Her arm flops uselessly over the side. I hope she isn't dead. My breakfast threatens to come up at the thought.

"Where's your mother?" he asks frantically, still breathing hard.

I turn to Prim and open my mouth to suggest I get her, but Prim is already rolling up her sleeves and pulling her hair back. She suddenly looks twice her age as she leans over the woman.

"She'll be home any minute. What's wrong with her?" she says. I notice her voice is void of all emotion.

"Couple'a days ago she started coughing. She said it was just the bad air from the mines and I believed her, because we live right next to the entrance," he says as he mops his brown hair off his face. "But it just got worse and worse, and finally I was bringing her here and she just collapsed."

I watch in horror as Prim pries the woman's mouth open and examines the inside. "Any blood when she coughs?"

"I, uh, I don't know," he says sheepishly, still clutching his wife's limp hand. "I work in the mines all day..."

Prim's blue eyes turn to the children who are huddled in the corner. "Any blood when she coughs?" she asks them pointedly.

The oldest is no more than eight, but he shakes his greasy head.

"No," he says. "But it was all wet-sounding and she couldn't catch her breath after. It was like something was blocking her throat."

Prim presses a damp cloth to the woman's head and she wakes up, violently coughing. The kid is right: it's wet and croaky and awful. I don't want to be here. I really don't want to be here.

I've never seen anyone sick. No one in my family has ever gotten seriously ill, but I do know it's contagious. Prim probably has immunity because she treats these illnesses on a regular basis, but I don't. I don't want to get sick. She looks horrible and Prim is actually _touching_ her.

I wonder what Katniss thinks about all this. Does she become as horrified as I am?

I step backwards, away from the scene and crowding myself into the corner with the kids. I smile at the youngest and take her hand. The perfect excuse.

"I'll just take them somewhere else. They shouldn't see this," I say loudly to Prim.

She glances over at me, and there must be something in my expression because she nods. "Good idea," she says.

I'm only halfway out the door, practically dragging the kids with me in my haste, when Mrs. Everdeen comes up the walk. She takes one look at the children and my face before hers becomes a mask, just like Prim's had done. She pushes me and the children back inside without a word.

"Stay," she says, pointing at me, then turns to Prim. "What happened?"

Prim recounts the past few minutes to her mother, who in turn goes to examine the woman, asking a few questions now and then. Finally, she walks over to where I've been standing like a tree, swaying slightly. My ears are ringing. I really don't want to be here.

"Gale, first I want you to take them to their aunt's. She lives on the corner of your street," she says slowly.

It takes me a second, but I nod. I know where the house is. My mind isn't working as quickly as it usually does and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's the woman on the counter looking like she's about to die and take us all with her. Mrs. Everdeen follows my gaze and then pulls me outside, away from the scene. I gulp the fresh air like water.

"Then I need you to go to the forest and find me supplies. I need two things: one is the soft, inner bark of a Lare tree. Do you know what that is?" she asks in a low voice.

Lare tree. My mind conjures up a picture of a knotted tree in the middle of the forest. I've seen Katniss collect the green bark from it. I nod at Mrs. Everdeen.

"Good," she says. "The second is called mythe. It's light green, is low to the ground and has a similar consistency to moss, but it only grows in strong sunlight. If you chew it, it tastes sweet. Do you think you can find it?"

I want to scream at her that everything in damn forest is green but I nod anyway. If Katniss can do this, I can, too. She takes the hand of the oldest child, saying she needs his knowledge as she drags him inside. She looks back at me over her shoulder.

"Go now," she says. "As quickly as you can."

I run, holding the youngest in my arms as I tear down the street, reaching their aunt's home in record time. I explain the situation to the family as I all but dump the children in their arms, spinning on my heel and racing down the street. It's only after a moment I hear another set of feet pounding beside me. I turn to face Rory's gray eyes.

"So," he says. "Where're we going?"

* * *

I keep running, filling him in between breaths as I make my way to the edge of town. He says nothing and keeps his eyes forward, but I know he's listening to every word I say. He knows it's important. Having someone with me to judge the different types of moss will make this faster and hopefully more efficient. It'll help him become acclimatized to the forest without actually hunting in it. This could be good.

We make it to the fence and I show him the hole I slither under. I get on my hands and knees, just about to crawl through, when I hear the humming. The damn humming.

The electric fence is on.

I shove Rory backwards, away from the fence.

"Hey," he says angrily. "What are you doing?"

"The fence is on," I say. "There's no way under it without touching it also."

"So let me go," he suggests. "I'm smaller than you. I can fit."

I'm already shaking my head before he finishes. "No. You're not going in there alone," I say.

Rory stands up, wiping the dirt of his hands. "Well, what other option is there?" he says. "You said that woman is dying."

"She is," I exclaim angrily. I don't need the reminder. "Shut up for a second. I need to think."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Rory mimic my words angrily, but I close them. I need to concentrate and we're running out of time. How can we get around the fence? If this was my mother, I would do anything, even if it meant shutting off the damn source itself.

I open my eyes as the plan forms in my mind. Rory sees my expression and huffs. "What now, Bigshot?"

I grab the sleeve of his shirt and start running back into town. He grumbles at the running but says nothing more. We have to turn off the source but I don't have the power to do that. They won't let me within fifty meters of the switch.

But the mayor does. And he buys my game.

As we reach the more expensive area of town, my footsteps slow and I feel Rory's confusion beside me. The streets are still filled with people going to the market, and they glance at us curiously as they pass.

"What are we doing here?" he says. "They won't help us."

I turn to face him. "Stay here. Do not follow me. I'll be back soon. Understood?" I ask.

"But-"

"Don't follow me."

We stare each other down. "Fine," he says. "One hour."

Good enough. I leave him at the street corner as I go racing down the block toward the mayor's home. I hesitate at the large house for a split second, wondering whether I should knock at the back door like I usually do or use the front. I decide on the back door and race through their side lawn until I reach it. I knock hard.

Madge opens the door, wearing her regular drab clothes instead of the white dress I saw her in last time. Her eyes narrow at me, waiting for me to say something about it. But I don't have time for this.

"Where's your father?" I ask, leaning over her shoulder to see into the hallway.

"We don't need your strawberries, thank you," she replies coolly, and goes to close the door.

I stick my foot in before she can close it. "It's an emergency. I need to speak to him."

Her eyes grow wider as she stares at me. She opens her mouth as if to say something, decides against it, and lets me into the house.

"Stay here," she whispers. "My mother doesn't...just stay here."

Madge disappears down the wide hallway without another word. I drum my fingers on a polished wooden side table, my heart beating fast. I might be wasting valuable time. Maybe I should have ignored this chance and tried to find another way in. But if it works. . .

My eyes take in the surroundings of the mayor's house. Despite delivering berries here for years, I've never been inside it before. I imagine it's similar to the house Katniss will get if she wins. When she wins. Big, tall ceilings, many rooms and old furniture. It smells like flowers, despite none being in the room.

I hear heavier footsteps walking down the hallway and straighten myself as the mayor comes around the corner. The look on his face says he recognizes me, even if he doesn't know my name.

"Let's take this to the office, shall we?" he suggests.

I follow without a word. With every step I'm reminded about how much I don't belong here, with my greasy hair and dirty clothes. We walk through a winding hallway lined with abstract paintings and into a giant office. Leather bound books cover each side of the room, as well as being stacked in any available space. His large wooden desk is covered in papers and he pushes them aside to clear off some space. He gestures to a chair, but I remain standing. So does he. I take a deep breath and go for it.

"I need you to turn off the electric fence," I say.

His eyebrows raise. "You know I can't do that."

"It hasn't been shut off in days. I've been there every waking moment trying to hunt but I've been unable to. Now someone in the Seam is sick and I need the herbs in the forest," I argue.

"Who?" he questions. His blue eyes are staring straight into mine and it's making me uncomfortable, but I refuse to break eye contact.

"Does it matter?" I ask angrily, then stop myself. I look at him, feeling guilty. "Mrs. Mullney. She's dying of some sort of bronchitis. She has three young kids."

I can see he's mulling it over and I wait patiently, trying not to breathe too heavily in the quiet room. I know I'm putting him in danger by asking this request, but a dangerous risk is worth it if you're saving someone's life. I remember Rory's tactic and try to drive the point home.

"We never have power in the Seam," I say. "No one will even question it."

Still he says nothing. I wait in the silence for as long as I can, but he's taking too long and I'm running out of time. I still need to find the remedies.

"Look, I'm running out o-"

"Fine," he interrupts me. "I can probably give you a day. There's nothing important until Saturday."

A day. An entire day. And I'll see Katniss on Saturday, only three days away. Relief floods my system and I watch him grab his coat from a rack.

"Thank you," I breathe. "Thank you so much."

"Wait here until I say otherwise," he says.

I finally take up his offer and sit in the padded chair. He puts on a hat and walks out of the office. I hear his footsteps retreating, stop, and then come back. I sit up expectantly as his head pops out from around the corner of the door.

"And Gale?" he asks.

"Yes?" I say. I can't believe he knows my name.

"Try to find some strawberries while you're out there."

I smile. "Free of charge," I say.

His head disappears and I wait until I hear the door slam shut. Wherever he's going, I hope it doesn't take too long, but that doesn't stop my burning curiosity as I stare around the room, unable to sit still any longer. There's a giant brass clock in the corner I examine closely, and some strange devices I've never seen before laying on a shelf. I don't touch them in case they break. They look old and valuable. I finally opt to open a book, pulling a random one off a shelf.

"What the hell is the _Iliad_?" I mutter.

"It's from before the Districts," says a voice behind me.

Madge appears in the doorway looking hesitant, but it isn't enough to slam the book shut. Instead, I look at it eagerly.

"Really?" I say. I've never seen anything from before the Districts.

"Yeah. It's really old. We don't even know how old," she says. "Daddy says it was written in an ancient language and the people before us deciphered it."

I put the book back gently on the shelf, feeling as though I don't deserve to touch it. Something that old is too beautiful for my poor hands. I put them in my pockets instead, turning to face her. It's then I catch the expression on her face: that gooey look I've seen from girls previously.

"Gale?" she asks me cautiously.

I wince, not knowing what she's about to ask me. "Yeah?"

"Did you really like the dress?" she says, looking at the floor.

I almost guffaw. That is the most pressing problem on her mind at the moment? If I liked her damn reaping dress? I'm ready to open my mouth and yell obscenities at her until she cries, but then she looks up at me and I see the fragility in her face.

"Yeah," I reply instead, my throat feeling dry. "It was nice. You looked great."

It comes out flat but I don't think she notices. I feel like telling her I could sell that dress and have a feast for my starving family. She smiles at me broadly, but when I don't return it, her smile falters.

"Thanks," she says, and I shrug.

She walks up to me anyway, the top of her head barely reaching my nose. Her blonde hair smells like roses. She reaches up to play with the collar on my shirt and I pull away, feeling uncomfortable. She notices my flinch and backs up to look in my eyes.

"I thought you said I was pretty," she says in a soft voice.

"You were. Are. I mean, you are," I say, stumbling over my words. What the hell is going on?

"But no one stands a chance against her," she guesses.

I barely have time to let that remark sink in when her father returns, hanging up his coat. Madge slinks out of the room, whatever just happened between us still hanging in the air. Her father, luckily, doesn't notice. He looks at me and our eyes connect.

"Go," he says. That's all I need.

I'm racing out the door and skidding around the street corner, finding Rory exactly in the place I left him. He jumps to his feet as he sees me coming and I don't even have to slow down before he's running in step beside me.

We say nothing all the way to the fence. I touch it quickly just to make sure there's no aftershocks. There are none, and Rory and I scurry through the hole at the bottom. I lead him through the forest quickly, not allowing him to stop and take in the sights. He's never been here before, and I know it's overwhelming but we don't have time. We don't stop running until I reach the Lare tree in the middle of the forest, pulling out my pocket knife.

"This is where you go every day?" Rory says in awe.

I ignore him, concentrating on peeling the rough, dark brown bark to get at the green inside. I see little square scars on the tree beside where I'm cutting and I know Katniss has been here. It comforts me, knowing there's still traces of her in the forest.

I finally reach the green bark and peel it gently, pulling out piece by piece until there's none left in the square I cut. I wrap it in the cloth I have in my pocket and put it away, not trusting Rory with it. He's lying on his back, staring up at the canopy of trees. I glance up to see the beauty he sees, but it only reminds me of Sunday afternoons with Katniss. I stalk past him.

"Come on," I say, and listen to him scrabble up and follow.

But during the chaos, I've forgotten the name of the second plant Mrs. Everdeen asked for. In fact, all I remember is that it grows in sunlight and is green. I slash my way through the forest, angry that I've forgotten. Rory trails along behind me.

"I can't believe you forgot," he says.

"Just shut up, Rory," I reply.

"Maybe I can jog your memory. Tell me everything she said," he suggests.

I roll my eyes at the ridiculous concept, but we're running out of time.

"It's called Mull or something. It started with a M, anyway. It's for treating coughs and it's green," I answer distractedly, staring hopelessly at the floor. "That's all I remember."

There's a long pause. I turn to the tree Rory is leaning against to see what he's doing, but he's gone. I look around quickly, but he's not in sight. Panic spreads throughout my body. Where is he?

"Rory!" I call out. There's no answer.

I stand completely still, listening for any sounds in the forest, but there are none. Fear is seeping into my veins. '_Don't be irrational_,' I think. '_If they came to pick him up, they wouldn't have left you_.' The next thought in my mind is even worse: Is he trying to run away?

I search the surrounding area, looking for his tracks. After a few moments, I see some broken branches. It's not much to go on and I've never been the tracker Katniss is, but I follow it, hoping it'll lead me to him. It works. There, less than five minutes away, is Rory, leaning over something in the forest. I grab him by his collar, ignoring his surprised yell as I throw him on his back and pin him to the ground. I convert my fear into anger.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been? We're here as a team. If I call you, you _fucking_ answer me. This isn't a game," I snarl.

His eyes widen as he stares at me. He's never seen me this way and he's frightened. He should be.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Gale. But look - mythe!" he says.

Mythe. The name comes flooding back to me and I look down at the green plant in his hand. I suddenly remember Mrs. Everdeen telling me it's sweet, so I rip off a piece and chew it. It tastes like sugar. I spit it back out.

I stare at Rory as he scrambles to his feet, brushing dirt off his pants. "Mom is going to kill me," he mutters.

"How did you know what it is?" I demand. How would Rory know? Did he find the book I had so carefully hidden to keep him safe?

I watch as his face turns bright red. "I just did," he says.

I stare at him, not breaking my gaze, and he knows that won't work with me. He kicks the dirt and stares at the ground.

"It's her name," he finally says.

"Whose?" I'm so confused. How does he know things about the forest I don't?

"Mytha. A girl at school. She told me she almost died when she was little because she had a bad cough, so her parents named her after the plant that saved her. She told me all about it," he says. It all comes out in a single breath. "Look, can we go now?"

I want to question him about the girl, but he's right - it's not the appropriate time. I run back toward the Seam lost in thought, making sure I hear Rory's heavy footsteps following me. A girl at school called Mytha. His angry speech a few days ago that love is pointless and will only hurt you. This girl telling him about her life as a baby, meaning they've spent time together. They've learned each others secrets.

He has a girlfriend before I do. I don't know how I feel about that.

We reach the gate and I wait until he climbs through before passing him the Lare bark.

"Do you know how to get to the Everdeen's?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah. You're not coming with me?"

I shake my head, not wanting to go back into that household with the sick woman. I can't deal with it.

"No, I'm going to hunt. Don't come back for me - we'll practice with you some other time," I say.

Rory turns and runs down the street, and I hope the herbs reach the woman before it's too late. I creep back into the forest, retrieving my bow and knives and preparing to hunt. I need a good distraction right now. Something to clear my mind before I break down and cry.

I end up with a good haul: at least a dozen fish, five rabbits and a special pint of strawberries for the mayor. I deliver those to him first.

"Everything all right?" he asks.

"It will be," I reply. And god, I hope that's true.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five of Twelve:**

Saturday will not come soon enough. I hunt when I can, trying to teach Rory the absolute basics. He's not very good at it. He can't stay still long enough for an animal to walk by; he gets bored resetting snares and checking the ground for tracks. He's not a born hunter.

But at least he can set basic snares. At least he's beginning to understand where all the hot spots for animals are. At least he's learning to constantly keep his eyes flickering, never focusing on one thing for too long.

He's beginning to understand the danger of being in the forest.

I still won't let him trade in the Hob with me. It's too risky, having the District know our entire family might be involved.

I haven't been to the Everdeen's house since that day, almost three days ago. I can't bring myself to go in there. I've suffered too much these past five years to just suddenly get sick and die. If I die, I want it to be because I was illegally entering the forest to hunt, helping my family, not because fate turned against me.

Rory says Mrs. Mullney is progressively getting better. He and Prim go to school together, so he fills me in when he can. I ask him to deliver food and money to them and give me a list of supplies they need. More often than not, he returns with a small pail of milk for me.

Finally, finally, it's Saturday. I wake with a start, realizing I've been working on autopilot for days, stocking up on food and doing regular trades in the Hob. The Hunger Games are going to start soon, and I know electricity will rarely, if ever, be turned off. More than that, I don't want to turn it off and hunt. I'll be watching Katniss every hour of every day.

Vick is standing over me, and I realize it must be later than I thought. I was up early this morning checking my snares and had rolled into bed just after sunrise. He hands me some bread and a piece of dried meat.

"They're announcing scores today," he says in way of a greeting. "Rory said the Everdeen's will be waiting for you in the square at one."

I rub my eyes and roll out of bed, ruffling my hair and groaning as I bite into the bread. Where are my shoes?

"What time izzit?" I ask.

It comes out muffled from the piece of bread, but he understands me anyway.

"Just after noon," he says. "Can I go now? I'm meeting the guys..."

I look around the small house and realize it's empty save for the two of us. I nod at him, and he's out the door yelling 'bye!' over his shoulder. I find my boots, covered it mud, and take them outside, beating them together until they're clean. I take my time, lacing them tightly, eating my breakfast, making sure the food is properly put away. When there's absolutely nothing else left to do, I close the door, locking it. I don't know why - we have nothing to steal.

I follow a string of people into the square, searching immediately for any recognizable faces. I see a few friends from school, but barely acknowledge them as my eyes sweep by. Now that we're not in school, I don't see the point of them anymore. They don't know my relationship with Katniss, and can do nothing for me.

I see Rory with his friends, Vick with his, and Posy and my mother talking to a group of women in the corner. But I still don't see -

"Hi, Gale," says a small voice behind me.

I turn, and there's Prim, her hair pulled up into an intricate pattern of braids. She places her hand on her hip, all attitude, and I'm shocked how much she can act like Katniss sometimes.

"Where have you been?" she demands.

I wince. She's totally pissed.

"Sorry, I was...well," I stutter, looking for the words.

I can't think of anything. Prim waits, staring up at me expectantly. Finally, I just shrug.

"Sick people freak me out."

She laughs, a high delicate noise like music. "You're so much like Katniss," she says.

A warm feeling radiates throughout my body. '_Of course I'm like Katniss_,' I think. '_It's because we're perfect for each other._' I simply smile at Prim instead.

She tells me about Lady, her goat, and talks about friends I've never heard of and do not know. But I smile and listen anyway. Without her sister, and school not starting until tomorrow, she's probably lonely.

"Where's your mother?" I interrupt her when I realize she isn't going to stop talking anytime soon.

"Oh," she says, looking around the square. "I don't know. She was with Mr. Mellark a few minutes ago."

I peek over the crowd, much taller than her small frame, and spot Mrs. Everdeen in the corner with both the Mellarks, talking in hushed voices. It's hard to believe that only a week ago they hardly knew each other and now they act like they're best friends.

"Is she...is she okay?" I ask. I remember every story Katniss told about her mother after their father's death. I will not let anything happen to Prim if her mother falls sick.

"She's holding on," Prim says. "She promised Katniss she would."

The television screens flicker and I feel Prim's hand once again slip into mine as the announcer appears. I hope Prim doesn't notice how sweaty they are. Today they're announcing the scores. Katniss needs a good one: a five will do. A five will at least keep her in the running for sponsors. I try to imagine the test she had to go through to get her score. Was she able to use a bow and show her skill?

They start with the usual Careers from Districts One, Two and Three. All score between eight and ten. No surprise there. The strange fox faced red-headed girl (_I wonder if Katniss has noticed that..._) scores a three. Not good. She isn't much taller than Katniss and it increases my worry.

Prim's hand in mine grows tighter as the Districts pass by. Most are fives. The twelve year old from District Eleven scores a seven and the crowd murmurs amongst themselves. I wonder what her talent was.

"I could have scored a seven," Prim whispers to me.

I squeeze her hand reassuringly, but I secretly doubt it.

District Twelve is the last to appear on the screen. First is Peeta's serious face. They pause for a dramatic effect, and everyone in the court holds their breath. An eight flashes on screen.

Eight! My fingers tingle with excitement as, not for the first time this year, the crowd breaks out into applause. No one from District Twelve has ever received above a six, and even that is rare. What did he do? What kind of skill does the baker's kid have?

I turn to look at the Mellarks, who are nodding at the screen with tears in their eyes. Whatever he did, they must know. Mrs. Everdeen pats them on the back, looking worried and proud at the same time.

I turn back as Prim's hand tightens in a clamp around mine, because now Katniss's solemn face is on the screen. My heart rate speeds up as I stare at her pretty gray eyes, even though they're far duller than I usually see them. The crowd reverts to its original silence as we wait for the score. It appears on the bottom.

Eleven.

The crowd is silent.

Eleven? Is it a mistake? No, it's not, or else they would have corrected it by now. She received an eleven, the best score this year. Whatever she did, she did it really fucking well.

Prim is the first to scream. I follow shortly after, swinging her around in my arms as we hug each other and laugh. Finally, the crowd catches on, realizing it really did happen. The square roars with noise, hats actually being thrown in the air. Our tributes did well this year, for the first time in decades. There's now a chance one of them might return home.

Vick and Rory are running to me, forcing their way through the crowd. Rory pounds me on the back while Vick hugs Prim tightly.

"What did she do?" Vick yells at me.

I laugh. "She was herself," I reply.

Now Mrs. Everdeen is running toward Prim and I, tears running down her face.

"An eleven!" she cries. "Oh, my, an eleven! What a fantastic score."

I grin cockily at her. "I don't know. There's room for improvement there," I say.

She whacks me lightly on my ear and Prim and I laugh.

I walk them home. Spirits are higher than I've ever seen them in the Seam. People are already talking about celebrating tonight at dinner; Prim even promises me some goat's cheese. She walks backwards as she talks to us, her hands waving.

"Do you think she'll get a sponsor now?" she asks.

Prim's mother smiles. "I bet she will," she says. "She's already taken the Games by storm."

"As long as Haymitch doesn't fu-. . .um, mess it up," I say, glancing at Mrs. Everdeen. Cussing is never appropriate in the Seam around women.

She looks me square in the eye. "If he messes up her chance for sponsors," she says, "I'll fucking kill him when he returns."

Prim gasps at her mother's language. I allow myself to laugh. The look in her eyes shows no lie.

I walk them to their door and we make plans to watch the interview tomorrow from their place. Because of the Games, the mayor fixed their old television. While it's still small, it's much better quality. I don't want to be in the square tomorrow. Listening to Katniss talk might stir emotions in me I don't want the community to see. She mentions that I should bring along my family, as she's invited the Mellarks. I don't want to be in the room with them - their son is preparing to kill Katniss and vice versa. I nod hesitantly.

"Sure," I say. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

I dream of Katniss at night, for the first time since the Games started.

_We're running through the forest, but we don't need a bow and arrow. We're not hunting or collecting. Instead, we're just...free. She runs ahead of me, barefoot, and her long brown hair flies behind her as she dodges around trees, laughing._

_I chase her, stumbling over roots, grinning cockily when she turns back to look at me. I allow myself a quick burst of speed, getting so close I can touch her hair. She screams in delight, not wanting me to win the game we're playing, and quickens her pace._

_We end up in our usual place: a rock ledge overlooking a valley. She's already sprawled out on the lichen-covered rock, breathing hard as she grins up at me. I lie down next to her, trying to slow my breathing but unable to. When I'm around her, my heart always beats fast._

_Her smile fades as she stares into my eyes, and her fingers come up to touch my lips lightly. They part as she runs her thumb over them. My heart freezes, wondering if my only wish is coming true._

_"I miss you," she whispers._

_"So come home," I reply._

_She stares at me for a long time, and I have to know what she's thinking. Abruptly, she rolls on top of me, her hair cascading down and creating a veil that hides us._

_"If I come home," she says, "We won't hunt together anymore."_

_I shake my head, not wanting to hear the truth. "We'll figure something out," I reply._

_She laughs quietly. "Maybe we'll just come here to be alone," she whispers._

_Her mouth is dangerously close to mine. I fight the intense instinct to close the gap. She has to do it. I will never push her. Her lips brush against mine and a ball of desire explodes in my body. My breathing quickens, but I say nothing. Her eyes are still open, and ours meet._

_"Want to know a secret, Gale?" she asks._

_Before I can speak, her mouth is on mine. It's wet and warm, and all I can think is 'more'. She makes a soft sound in her throat and I kiss harder, reaching up to run my fingers in her hair, desperately needing her to make that sound again._

_She does._

_I answer her question with my lips and tongue and hands, holding her tightly against me. Yes, I answer. Yes._

_My hands are moving on their own accord, tracing down her spine. She bites my lip softly and I shiver. I want her so much. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her sweet smell. Kiss it softly._

_"I love you," I murmur. I can't hold it in anymore. I need her to know._

_She sighs, and her hand slides into mine. Squeezes. I feel hot breath tickle against my ear._

_"Bye, Gale," she says._

_And then she's sitting up, glancing at me one last time as she disappears into the forest. I follow her, screaming her name and searching everywhere I know, but she's gone._

_I've lost her._

I wake up with a start, breathing hard. My lips are still tingling as I glance around the room, realizing where I am. The first rays of sunlight are making their way through the shutters, and I roll out of bed and straight outside, wanting to be alone.

I sit on our front step and watch the sun rise, still feeling Katniss' lips on mine. They're still tingling, even after the sun has appeared, and I'm afraid to lick them incase I remove all traces of her, even imaginary ones.

Today is Sunday. Any other Sunday, Katniss and I would be making our way to the very spot I dreamed of, lounging in the sun, eating berries, and generally enjoying ourselves before we hunt, stocking up for the week. Sunday used to be the highlight of my week. I run my hands through my hair, missing her more with every passing minute.

I don't know how much more of this I can take, and the Games haven't even begun.

But today's the interview. I need a glimpse of her face, the sound of her voice, before I go completely insane. I get up, more determined to make it through the day. I rush through my morning chores, getting Vick and Rory up and helping my mother with the cooking. I tell her about Mrs. Everdeen's offer and she refuses, saying she has more than enough to do on Sunday. Surprisingly, Rory and Vick jump at the chance and they finish their chores in record time. We wash our faces and try to look as presentable as possible.

The walk to the Everdeen's is silent, filled with nervous excitement about the interview. I know Katniss will be dressed up, probably looking absolutely stunning, but I don't care. I just need to see her and make sure she's okay.

Prim answers the door, smiling and standing aside to let us in. It's a tight squeeze in their small house, but we all manage to find space around the television. Prim and Rory are in a deep discussion about school the following morning and Vick is smiling shyly, listening to their conversation. I turn to Mrs. Everdeen.

"I thought the Mellarks were coming?" I ask conversationally, secretly glad they aren't here.

"Oh, Rose wasn't feeling much like socializing today," she says. "Can't say I blame her."

I nod. Today is probably the best day to view your children, when they're all clean, sparkly and . . . alive. Most of the District Twelve tributes are killed off in the first few minutes of the Games, and we all take a moment to say goodbye today. Except I will not say goodbye to Katniss. She's going to survive with that eleven of hers. I know it.

We watch as the lights dim on the stage set in the center of the Capitol, and we all fall silent as we watch the tributes walk across it to their seats, one after the other. They're all made up, of course, and Prim and her mother ooh and aah at some of the outfits. I watch Rory and Vick elbow each other at the gorgeous blonde in District One, wearing a tight-fitting short gold dress. Prim claps excitedly when Rue, the twelve year old, appears in a flowing gown with wings, looking very much like an elvish fairy.

"She's so pretty," she sighs.

I know now that, other than her sister, Prim has found someone to cheer for in the Games. Something to take her mind off the fact her sister is apart of them, giving her a respite from the stress. Her mother leans down to kiss her head, and I secretly wish I could so easily escape from reality.

A girl in a shimmering gown appears on stage next. The entire dress is composed of jewels, and it glints and shines, flaring against the camera with every movement she makes. There's fire stenciling on her arms and a red ribbon weaved into her brown hair. They zoom in to show her determined face...

It's Katniss.

"Oh," her mother says in shock, sitting down heavily next to me.

"Oh, Kat," Prim whispers.

"If I didn't know her, I wouldn't believe she's real," says Rory.

Then we're all silent. The crowd is silent. Everyone is silent. She's beautiful. She's the most beautiful one there, easy. The gown clings to her body, showing off curves I never knew she had. Her lips are painted a tasteful red and there's some jewels stuck around her eyes. She sits down carefully, looking miniature compared to the giant of District Eleven beside her.

"She looks like she's on fire," Vick breathes.

He's right. It's a different way of showing fire, her and Peeta's theme for District Twelve. This time, the jewels - reds and yellows, I realize - create sparkling flames, more beautiful than they are dangerous. They reflect patterns off her arms and neck and make her gray eyes mysterious. Peeta comes to sit next to her, glances at her, and I know that expression in his eyes. It's the same one I have now. She's irresistible.

The camera eventually trains its lens away from Katniss and Peeta and to Caesar Flickermann in his usual dark blue suit. It sparkles too, complete with little light bulbs, but it looks almost pitiful compared to Katniss' outfit.

"Does he _ever_ get old?" Rory asks incredulously.

Mrs. Everdeen and I laugh despite the tense atmosphere.

"They do surgery at the Capitol to make people look younger," she says.

I catch her eye and she rolls them at me. We both understand the ridiculousness. Just because you look young doesn't mean you'll ever be young again. Caesar is grasping at something that is long gone and will never return to him, making him look foolish.

He waves and warms up the crowd, telling his usual sly jokes, slowly raising the excitement of the audience. We laugh occasionally, but our eyes are constantly searching for Katniss on the stage.

"What do you think her strategy will be?" asks Rory.

I've been wondering that myself. Every year during the interviews a tribute plays their greatest asset, whether it be pure sex (to gain more sponsors), stealth, strength or humour. Katniss has all these things, but pales in comparison to the other tributes, far more powerful with these weapons than she is.

"Fire?" suggests Prim.

Vick shakes his head. "No," he says. "It's fear."

I look back to Katniss on stage. He's completely right. Even without her moving, the dress glints like flickering flames. She looks completely untouchable, like you'd burn yourself if you got too close. Her gray eyes reflect the red glints near the top of the dress, giving her a merciless, cruel appearance. As much as she is beautiful, she looks truly terrifying.

The interviews begin. Each tribute has three minutes to get their point across. It's the last-ditch effort to gain sponsors. The green-eyed blonde from District One plays a sex fiend, obviously hoping for male sponsors. The Career men use power, ruthlessness and strength to their advantage. They act like they have no fear of death, but I wonder if they even know what it's like to watch someone slowly die in front of you. You can train all you want for the Games, but nothing prepares you for what's ahead.

The red-head from District Five answers with simple yes or no questions, but when Caesar asks if she has anything to add, she looks directly at the table of tributes.

"You won't find me. Don't even try," she grins.

For such a small girl, so much like Katniss in a way, I'm impressed by her behaviour.

The numbers slowly rise, one after the other dutifully walking to Caesar and working the audience in their own way. Rue practically floats across the stage when it's her turn, and Prim sighs, resting her head in her hands.

I barely watch the monster who comes after her. Katniss is next. From a distance on camera, I can see her fidgeting in her seat. She's nervous. Center stage just isn't Katniss' style. She's making me nervous, and I shift uncomfortably in my chair also. Mrs. Everdeen pats my arm reassuringly.

It's her turn. I watch Thresh sullenly sit down and then Katniss is walking, talking slow measured steps across the stage. She shakes Caesar's hand and sits down. The cameras zoom closer, and we all instinctively move forward, also.

"So, Katniss," he begins. "The Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?"

She stares at him blankly, and it's only then I truly realize how overwhelmed she is. The audience pauses, waiting for her response. I watch her eyes flick to something behind Caesar, and her face suddenly becomes more determined. She licks her lips.

"Come on, Katniss," Prim mutters.

"The lamb stew."

We all release a collective breath as Caesar laughs delightedly. The audience joins in.

"The one with the dried plums?" Caesar asks. "Oh, I eat it by the bucketful."

I have no idea what they're talking about, but I don't care, either. I just want to hear every single word that comes out of her mouth. The audience is yelling something, though, and I jar out of my thoughts, alarm rushing through me. What just happened?

But they're laughing, now, and it was just a joke. I lean forward even more to catch the next question.

"Now Katniss, when you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped," he begins. _Mine, too_, I think. "What did you think of that costume?"

Her eyes flick behind him again, and I'm dying to know what, or who, she's looking at.

"You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?" she asks.

The audience laughs, and everyone at our table chuckles.

"She's herself," Mrs. Everdeen says.

It's true. Katniss is just being herself, letting the make-up artists and designers do the rest of the work. They're allowing her to be real, rather than spend precious time acting as something she's not.

"Yes. Start then," says Caesar.

"I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this, either." She spreads out her skirt, making it glimmer even more. "I mean, look at it!"

She smiles again at something behind Caesar, and I'm starting to realize who it is. The designer. Of course. He understands her and sees what most people don't. What I see. Of course they have a bond.

Suddenly, Katniss gets up and spins. Prim gasps as light reflections bounce off the dress and make patterns on the stage floor. I don't think it's necessary. I'm not staring at the dress - I'm staring at the girl in it.

"Oh, do that again!" says Caesar, and we watch her spin and spin and spin. Her brown hair disappears and her face becomes a blur as the colours transform into a roaring blaze. The camera pans the tributes at their table, and all of them are glaring at her. She stops and clutches Caesar's arm.

"Don't stop!" he says.

"I have to, I'm dizzy!" she replies. And then she giggles.

Giggles. I have never heard her giggle. Apparently, neither has her sister.

"Whoa," Prim says, staring at Katniss as though she has never seen her before.

Caesar makes a joke about how she could have fallen drunkenly like Haymitch did, and the camera flashes to him. He waves and points back to Katniss.

"Good to see he's not smashed," says Mrs. Everdeen icily.

I snort. She's right, though. He looks healthier than I've ever seen him, and to his credit, he looks sober. Caesar is talking again and I tune back in eagerly.

"...So, how about that training score?" he asks. "Eleven! Give us a hint what happened in there."

The cameras pan to the Gamemakers, the judges of the competition, who laugh and chuckle. Laughing and chuckling at Katniss? What did she do? I'm dying. Apparently, Caesar feels the same way I do.

"You're killing us," says Caesar. "Details. Details!"

Katniss leans over him to the Gamemakers. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?" she asks.

One shouts out. "She's not!"

"Thank you," Katniss says, smiling. "Sorry. My lips are sealed."

"We're so wrestling it out of her when she gets back," Rory mumbles. We all hum in agreement, our eyes still on the screen.

"Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping," says Caesar, becoming somber. "And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"

Prim makes a small, hurt noise, and her mother pulls her tightly against her. She whispers something in Prim's ear, and I just barely catch it.

"It's not your fault."

I look at Prim with concern, realizing how she must be feeling, despite her constant smiles. She blames herself. I didn't even see it. I'm still staring at her as Katniss' voice echoes out to the audience.

"Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything," she says.

I watch as Prim's eyes water and her lips tremble. She presses them tightly, trying to hold it together.

"What did she say to you, after the reaping?" Caesar asks.

"She asked me to try really hard to win," Katniss says.

"And what did you say?" asks Caesar, lapping up all the drama like a thirsty dog.

Prim jerkily nods her head. "She promised," she says brokenly.

"I swore I would."

The interview ends and I hear the audience roaring as Katniss walks back to her seat, but I don't pay attention. Instead I wrap my arms about her sister and mother, whispering it in Prim's ear also. That it isn't her fault. There was nothing she could have done. Katniss is strong, she'll come home. Words I wish someone would tell _me_.

I vaguely realize they're interviewing Peeta now, and I'm glad his family isn't here because none of us are listening except Vick.

"Guys," Vick says, but we ignore him, busy trying to comfort Prim.

Prim's disgusting cat (he really is gross - flea-bitten and covered in scars) jumps into her lap purring, and she holds him tightly against her while she tries to control her crying. Mrs. Everdeen runs outside to get some fresh milk for her and I continue stroking her hair, something I've seen Katniss do with her a hundred times.

"Guys," Vick says again.

"What?" I ask.

"Um, you might want to watch this," he says.

Prim raises her blotchy face to the television and I follow suit. Peeta is sitting in the interview chair now, looking uncomfortable in his black flame outfit. I focus on the words.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar.

Peeta sighs, his face a mask of indecision. "Well, there is this one girl," he says. "I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

There's a murmur of understanding in the crowd, and even Mrs. Everdeen comes inside to finish watching. He's piqued our interest, and we all want to know who the poor girl is. Maybe I'll catch her a rabbit later. She'll be feeling miserable after the interview.

"She have another fellow?" asks Caesar.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta.

"Poor boy," sighs Mrs. Everdeen. "Still heartbroken."

"So, here's what you do," continues Caesar. "You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

Peeta laughs bitterly. "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning. . .won't help in my case."

We all lean forward. Why won't it help him? I watch him blush on screen, his entire face turning a dark red. His eyes flick to the tribute table and suddenly I understand. Now I really know why he looked at Katniss like he did when they came on stage.

I freeze. _No_, I think. _Don't do it. Don't_-

"Because...because..." he stammers. "She came here with me."

My entire body becomes ice. First I want to kill him for liking her. Then I want to kill him for humiliating her. Then I want to kill him for laying that on her a day before the Games, when _she_ has to kill him.

Mrs. Everdeen drops the pail of goat's milk. We hear it, but no one reacts. We're all frozen.

Rory is still staring at the screen. "No fucking way."

On stage, Caesar winces. "Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," he says, and it's such an understatement Vick nervously laughs beside me.

"It's not good," agrees Peeta.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," says Caesar. "She didn't know?"

Peeta shakes his head. "Not until now."

They camera is trained directly on Katniss now, and I watch her entire face turn pink. She's desperately trying to glance anywhere but at Peeta and the cameras, which doesn't give her many places to look. She fixes her eyes on her lap.

Prim inhales a shaky breath. We're all fixated.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the cameras.

"No!" I yell, and Prim, Rory and Vick jump.

I tune the rest out. I don't want to hear it. Katniss looks embarrassed and humiliated as she stands next to Peeta throughout the anthem, but there's something else there. Something I don't want to see, but I know her so well I know I'm not wrong.

She's flattered by his declaration of love.

And that really, really hurts. So much that it feels like my entire chest contracts, something wrapping around my heart and squeezing tight.

The tributes walk off the stage, single file, and the cameras pan the audience one last time before turning off. We're faced with silence in the small house.

"Well," says Rory, breaking the silence. "At least she'll be remembered."

I kick him hard under the table, my anger flaring. Of course she'll be remembered. Everyone in this room will remember Katniss for as long as we live, even if she doesn't. But she will. She has to.

Vick shakes his head. "It's a ruse," he says.

The entire table turn to look at him. He's staring at the blank television screen, lost in thought.

"What do you mean?" asks Mrs. Everdeen.

"I'm not sure...but I think that maybe it's their tactic," he says.

Vick, at age eight, has always been the most intelligent in our house. He spends so much time around adults he speaks like one, but he's also so in tune with other's emotions, I know what he's saying is the truth, even if I don't understand it yet. How could that be fake? Katniss face when he announced...

"I mean, and just bear with me, but they've been presented as a couple every step of the way," he says, still staring hard at the screen. "Think about it: matching costumes during the opening ceremonies and then again today."

"I don't understand," says Prim, her face full of shock.

"They held hands during the opening ceremonies when they didn't even know each other," he says. "Would Katniss do that usually?"

Prim and I both shake our heads. No, Katniss would never get close to somebody that fast. It took her months to get used to me, and she doesn't have any other friends than the people in this room.

"So, what if it's their tactic?" Vick continues. "What if they're being presented as like, star-crossed lovers to gain attention? It's never been done before, right? People will love it and sponsor them."

"And then what? The audience would just love to watch them kill each other, wouldn't they?" I shout angrily.

Prim flinches and I immediately regret it. I shouldn't have said that around her. Vick also turns bright red.

"I just...it was stupid. Sorry. I'm going to go," he says.

As he stands, I realize how much I've hurt his feelings when he's probably absolutely right. The audience doesn't care if they kill each other in the end. To them, it'll just make the show better. Being presented as lovers will get them the sponsors they need to survive and give Katniss a better chance.

"No, Vick -" I say, but he's already out the door. Rory gives me a side glance and follows him.

Silently, I help Mrs. Everdeen clean up the spilled milk. I don't think any of us can wrap our minds around it. It was the last time we'll see Katniss, looking stunning and herself, before the Games tomorrow morning. I can't even remember watching her walk off stage, and I hate myself for not paying more attention.

The door bursts open just as we finish, and Mr. Mellark is running through it, looking sweaty from exertion.

"Did you see it?" he asks anxiously.

"Yes," Mrs Everdeen replies. "I'm so sorry, Mitchell."

I don't want to be in a room with him. He's the enemy. But I don't want him to be the enemy - he's bought my game for years, keeps quiet about it, and exchanges it for fresh, warm bread. He's going through the same emotions I am, losing a loved one. But his son could kill Katniss, and I can't get it out of my head, even if it isn't his fault. Maybe it is his fault. I'm too confused to be here, so I stand up and leave without another word. I'll apologise to the Everdeen's later.

I'm already halfway up the street when Prim's broken voice stops me. She runs ahead of me and grabs my arms tightly, breathing hard.

"She loves you," she says. "You, not him. I know she does. I believe Vick, okay? It's fake."

My heart beats a little faster. I want to shake her until she tells me everything Katniss has ever said about me, but I refrain. Prim's been through enough today, and what she's told me is enough. It's more than I could have ever asked for.

"I know," I say and it's true. I just needed the reassurance. She loves me. I know she does. She may be flattered by Peeta, but she loves _me_. A simple declaration doesn't wipe away four years of what we have.

Prim nods. "Just. . . just remember that," she says, and then she's running back to her house.

And when I lie in bed that night, I do remember it. I remember every moment with Katniss, her smile, her laugh, dressed in her ratty hunter's boots and wearing normal clothing. My Katniss. The Games are tomorrow. Most District Twelves have died within the first hour of the Games. I trust Katniss to be smarter than that, to hide first instead of fight. I trust her to be okay.

Now that I know Peeta loves her, I trust him to protect her like I would.

I won't sleep tonight.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you everyone who has commented thus far! I love reading all your comments, and they mean a lot. And everyone, I hope you're enjoying the story! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six of Twelve:**

I'm so restless I keep waking Rory and Vick, so I roll out of bed before the first hint of sunshine.

Today's the day.

I wish I could do something for her.

I consider hunting, but only for a brief second. It'll remind me too much of Katniss today and I checked the traps only the day before. But more than that, I don't want to miss her. I owe it to her to watch every single second she's on the television. I won't turn away from her when she needs me most, even if we can't see or speak to each other.

I meander through town, trying to keep my mind off Katniss but unable to. Everything I look at has a memory: the street corner she rounded too fast when we raced to the market, covering her in a thick layer of mud which she proceeded to throw at me, thus starting the Mud Fight of the decade. I pass by Greasy Sae's house on the edge of town and remember all the haggling Katniss and I have done with her. All the times we bought soup from her and closed our eyes tightly, not even wanting to know what the floating chunks in it were.

I find myself at the edge of the forest, as usual, remembering the best memories: lounging in the sun, exploring the forest together, teaching each other secret tricks of the trade we both swore we'd never share with anyone. I first talked to her in this forest. I first trusted her in this forest. I fell in love with her in there.

So instead I sit on the concrete and watch the sun rise, forcing any bad thoughts away the moment I think of them. I watch the miner's walk to their workplace. I watch the marketplace prepare for the day, as usual. Because to them, it's just any other day. Go to work, come home, feed the family if you can. Day-to-day living.

My life has turned into minute-by-minute living. '_If I can just get through this minute_,' I think to myself, '_I'll be okay_.'

I repeat it over a hundred times until the sun has risen high enough in the sky. I walk to the Everdeen's, trusting they'll be awake also. I doubt they slept through the night, but I'll give them privacy and turn a blind eye.

I don't even have to knock. Prim opens the door, void of her usual smile. Instead, she looks pale and shaky.

"Happy Hunger Games," she says lamely.

My only response is to pull her into a tight hug.

Mrs. Everdeen is sitting in the corner, wringing her hands. She consciously stops doing it when I walk into the room.

"The square or here?" she asks me.

I consider it. Here we're in the privacy of their home. If Katniss. . .if anything happens, we can mourn without thousands of eyes upon us. But the square also has friends. It offers comfort. We might get swept up in the cheering of the crowd instead of feeding each other an endless loop of fear and misery.

"The square," I say. "If. . .if anything happens, I'll make sure you get home alright."

Mrs. Everdeen closes her eyes tightly and her face becomes a mask of pain. My throat tightens watching her, and I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to cry. I have to be strong for them. I promised Katniss.

Her mother composes herself, standing on shaky legs before I rush to help her. We make our way slowly to the square, as if the Hunger Games will wait for us until we're ready. As much as I wish it would happen, I know it won't, so I hurry us along.

It's only when I reach the square I feel sick. My breakfast, a meager helping of greens and bread, threatens to come up. The crowd falls silent when we approach, and then they part for us. We walk through the hallway shaped by the crowd until we reach the front. The Mellarks are already there, looking shaky. Luckily someone has brought two chairs from the market, and I lower Mrs. Everdeen into one of them. Mrs. Mellark takes the other.

I try to control my shaky breathing as I look down to Prim, who is swaying slightly. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, trying to hide her trembling from the cameras trained upon us.

She reaches out to hold her mother's hand, and now we're all connected, sharing strength and energy. But I don't know how long I can keep it up. My heart is pounding in my chest and I'm terrified. More terrified than I've ever been in my life.

I feel a hand grasp my arm and I turn. My mother, Posy, Vick and Rory stand next to me, all looking a little green. I nod to acknowledge them. All my loved ones are here to support me, and I'm here to support them.

But Katniss is alone.

The screen turns on and I hear Prim let out a little whimper. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and look up at it.

The landscape has trees. An entire forest, actually, with a few small rivers winding through it, all ending at a giant lake. There's some grasslands in the corner of the map, but it's mostly a forest landscape. What Katniss is best at.

I don't know whether to vomit or cry in relief.

"Trees," I croak. "She can make a bow."

Her mother holds a trembling hand to her mouth.

The camera zooms in towards a flat area of packed dirt where the Cornucopia is. It's a giant gold cone with one curved end. The open end is filled with food, first aid kits and other survival gear. The announcer explains some of the objects, but I'm not paying attention. I don't want Katniss anywhere near that. The Cornucopia is where the bloodshed occurs.

Claudius Templesmith, the commentator of the Games, introduces himself. Katniss is going to appear on one of the metal circles any minute. God, I hope she's near the forest.

Finally, over the adrenaline shooting through my body, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I hear the deadly words:

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Twenty-four holes simultaneously open in the ground, and the tributes all raise from the under the landscape. I frantically search to find Katniss.

"Where is she?" Prim exclaims. Her voice is breaking. "Where is she!"

"There," Vick says, pointing at the screen. "By the forest."

By the forest. I train my eyes and there she is, looking tiny from our aerial view. The camera sweeps past the tribute's determined faces. Peeta looks eerily calm. Katniss is glancing behind her when the camera views her, obscuring our vision of her face.

Sixty seconds. The countdown begins. They have to wait sixty seconds before stepping off their platform, or the ground beneath them will explode and kill them. I watch the numbers slowly decline on screen, and my legs begin to shake.

Katniss and Peeta's faces appear in the corner of our screen, our personal, 24-7 live view of our tributes. She's glancing at the Cornucopia, undecided. Her eyes flick to something outside our lens, and then Peeta's shaking his head. They're communicating.

"Listen to him," Mrs. Everdeen whispers.

Mrs. Mellark chokes on her tears.

It happens in flashes after that.

The clock reaches zero.

The defenses lower.

Tributes run to the Cornucopia.

Katniss remains frozen in place.

My body turns to ice.

"Run, Catnip," I whisper. "Run."

* * *

**A/N: I uploaded two chapters today because this one is rather short. **


	7. Chapter 7

**PART TWO**

_** "You better listen to me, boy. You take care of your girl in there. You're going to need her as much as she needs you, and you better show it. Panem wants a good romance."**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Seven of Twelve:**

I've never felt fear like this before.

I've never even heard of a description for this kind of fear. It's beyond butterflies and trembling hands, nausea and feeling lightheaded. I feel . . . dead. There's no other word for it but dead. Adrenaline is pumping through my body so fast, consuming every inch of me, but I don't even feel it any more. Instead I feel sluggish and almost disinterested. I remember my heart racing only a second ago, but now it's so, so slow. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. And I'm cold. So, so cold. Like ice.

I wonder if I'm dead yet. Is this what death is like? It's not so bad.

I go through the tributes, one by one, until I find Katniss in her own little pod. Her own little world. She's beautiful, as usual. Does she feel the peacefulness now? The quiet I'm feeling? No. She doesn't look peaceful. She looks...contemplative. What is she staring at?

I follow her eyes until I reach the gold Cornucopia in the center. But why would she stare at that? My thoughts are so, so slow. I remember Haymitch telling us not to do that. That isn't allowed. Stick together, he told me. Let the audience know you care.

I catch her eye from across the flat plain. At least I think I do. The sun is shining hard directly above me, reflecting off the metal of her circular platform, hiding her from my view. I shake my head hard. _Don't even think about it_, this head shake says. _I've got it covered. Trust me._

Then the timer reaches zero and everything changes.

Suddenly, my vision comes back. My mind is clear. I hear feet pounding across the plain as people rush to the Cornucopia. My heart is back to racing.

The Games. I'm still in the Games. And they've only just begun.

I'm thrown back into a reality of knives, blades, explosives and death. So I do the first thing I can think of: I run.

I spin on my heel and run as fast as I can to the lake. But there's nothing here. There's nowhere to hide, and I can't swim.

I turn to look at the mess behind me at the Cornucopia. Bodies are lying on the ground, and I don't want to know if they're dead or just injured. I take a quick survey of the people still in the center, and the people who have fled: Katniss is gone, as is Rue, Thresh and the District Five girl. I think.

I may not have wilderness survival skills like Katniss does, but I do have tact. I remember the plan I made the night before while overlooking the Capitol on the Tribute Building roof. It seems like a million years ago.

Like I've done many times before, I turn my mind off. My thoughts become nothing. There are no feelings or movement to them. It's like hearing a commentators voice in my head, like it's not happening to me. I can hear him repeat my movements to the audience at home:

Peeta throws himself into the fight!

Peeta pulls the knife out of District Three's girl.

He stabs her again to make sure she's dead. She is.

He climbs the Cornucopia, pulling the boy from District Six off of a Career girl. He has her by the neck. Peeta breaks his fingers to release her.

Peeta hesitates, staring at the boy's eyes. _Just this one. Just this one._

Peeta's hesitation costs him. The boy throws his fist into Peeta's face. He sees stars.

Peeta stabs him twice in the chest with the knife. _It slides in easily. That must be a good thing._

The boy chokes, grabs at his wounds and falls off the Cornucopia.

Peeta hears the sickening crunch as he hits the ground. He feels nothing but the pain in his eye.

He stares at the Career girl, nods, and jumps down.

The girl from District One is fighting someone. Peeta runs at him, gripping the knife tighter. Slices his throat. The boy doesn't see it coming.

Peeta's turning away before he sees the outcome. See, folks? It gets easier with every kill. Look how surprised Glimmer is! Peeta's nodding to her and walking away, now. What a gentlemen!

_No more killing. No more killing._

I come back into my body when searing pain spreads across my upper arm. I look down to find a small dagger stuck in it. I pull it out fast, wincing as I watch blood stream down my arm, feeling the throb. I turn to the girl who threw it, but she's disappearing into the forest.

I barely have time to catch my breath when a body lands on me, scrabbling for my knife. I hold it out of her reach, trying to push her off of me, but she's savage and desperate, keening as she tries to reach for it, just out of her grasp. I swing it around and stab her in the back. Once, twice, three times. I feel her hot breath on my face one more time before she's silent.

I push her off of me, trying to keep from vomiting. I gag a few times, but I didn't eat this morning. There's nothing to come up.

My arm is bleeding badly now, and it burns more than any oven burn I've had. I can hear my mother scoffing at me, telling me to suck it up. But my father's voice seeps through, and it's enough. '_Hide_,' he says in my mind. '_Hide and show them your skills_.'

I find the body of the boy I killed from District Six. He's about my size and he's lying on his side. I lay down quickly and roll him over me, hoping that none of the tributes see me doing this. I doubt it. They're all still fighting: I hear the screaming, the crying, the pleading and other sounds of battle.

The boy is heavy on top of me, but he covers my breathing chest. I flop my bad arm out from under him, turning the wound so it's in the dirt. It can't be good for me, but I know it'll create a pool of blood but not actually show them I'm still bleeding. I turn my head and close my one good eye, the other one facing upwards, easy to spot. It's already swollen shut, and I'm hoping it looks terrible. I grip my hand tightly around the knife, tucking it under the boy's body and out of sight.

I know that I look like I'm dead. I'm confident in that. I just don't know how long it'll work. If I try to run to the forest now, chances are I'll receive a knife in my back. If this plan doesn't work...at least I can say I tried.

I hide in plain sight.

The next few hours are the worst of my life.

First is the boy on top of me. He slowly turns cold against me, and I hold myself back from retching. I try to distract myself, but there's no distractions here. I have to face reality: I'm lying under a dead boy my age. A boy with friends, a family and a life back home he'll never return to. A boy who could have easily been myself, and I'm using him as a glorified blanket.

Next is the screaming. Oh, god, the screaming. Bodies litter the ground around me, and even though I can't see I hear them moaning in agony. I hear their gurgles, their lungs filled with fluid, as they cry out to their mothers. Crying that they just want to go home. One voice, a boy, is screaming for someone to just kill him. It's a sound I'll hear in my dreams for the rest of my life. "Please, please, I want to die. Just let me die."

The fighting continues for hours. Hours and hours. Some of the tributes are fighters, and I hear their grunts as they climb the Cornucopia above me, or as they run from the Careers, or when they fight in hand-to-hand combat.

I hope Katniss is okay.

I hope she made it out of here. I remember her staring at the Cornucopia with longing just before the mines were deactivated. What was in there she wanted? What would make Katniss stare so hard, want so badly and actually consider joining the battle?

A bow. It comes to me immediately. There must be a bow scattered here somewhere.

I'll have to bring it to her. The temptation is too great for her to come back here. And that can't happen.

Finally, after what seems like ages, the fighting stops. There's a minute of silence around the arena. The ones who stayed to fight must all be dead, leaving only the Careers. I don't want them to find me. For the first time, real conversation picks up. The voices are muted and I can't tell them apart.

"How many are here?"

"Um, eleven, I think."

"Seems like more. Are they all dead?"

I hear feet come closer and closer to me. I stop my breathing as they approach. They stay only for a moment before turning back the way they came.

"Everyone over here's dead. What about you?"

"Yeah, here, too."

"Clove?"

"Hold on a sec...'kay, all dead over here."

"What about the others?"

"Yeah, a bunch fled as soon as the timer stopped."

"Cowards."

A laugh.

"So what do we do now?"

"I guess let them clear out the bodies. We'll get our bearings and come back to strategize."

"Awesome."

"Sounds good."

"I'm starving."

"Man, Cato. You're always hungry."

"...Guys, there's more than eleven bodies here."

"How do you know?"

"Because I counted, stupid. Plus the cannons haven't gone off."

My heart rate picks up. They're smarter than I thought they would be. Careers usually pair up and use brute strength to keep the Cornucopia, but they don't need any survival skills or intelligence after that. Just the ability to kill without remorse.

"I guess we check each individually, then."

I hear a soft croon from a girl. "Where areeeee youuuuu?"

I try to force down the instinct to run. But they're going to catch me, anyway. If I run now, I might be able to make it. But I don't even know where they are - my eyes are still closed. My hand tightens around the knife, and I move it slightly out from the boy's body. I can't trust them.

Heavy footsteps approach me, and I know they're male. He bends down, leaning over to check the pulse of the boy above me.

"Check," he mutters.

His hand moves to my throat. I lunge.

I've stabbed him in the neck before I've even opened my eyes. I see the shock on his face, an almost terror as if I've come back from the dead. I stab him again and he falls. His death is relatively silent, but another boy notices me. District Two. Cato.

"Hey," he shouts. "He's here! He's over here!"

I don't have much time. I squeeze myself out from under the body, jump to my feet and run. But my legs are practically asleep from lying under heavy weight for so long, and my arm hangs limply at my side.

I realize now I'm not a very good runner.

Cato has me tackled before I can make it halfway across the field. I slam down on my leg, searing pain flowing up my body. I cry out before I can stop myself, but I doubt Cato notices. A fist slams into my face. Then another. Then another. He doesn't have a weapon on him. He's going to kill me with his bare fists.

"Stop! Stop! Let me see!"

The fists stop. I groan. My body feels broken. I'm dead. I might as well accept it. I'm going to die. They're all going to fight about who gets to kill me, like it's a special honour, while I scream in agony.

Feet run up to me. "Don't," says a female voice. "That's Lover Boy."

Cato, sitting on my thighs, looks up at her. I try to open my good eye. It's Glimmer, the girl from District One.

"Who?" he asks dumbly.

"Lover Boy! The boy who declared his undying love for all of Panem!" she laughs.

"Why the fuck should I care? Give me your knife," he says.

She shoves him. "Get off of him," she says.

"You don't get to kill him! I got him first," he yells.

More voices appear now. I hear the girl from District Two, Clove. "No one is going to kill him," she says. "He's with us."

"No he's not," argues Marvel, the boy from District One. "You just said he was with the Slum girl."

The slum girl? I want to laugh. We call them Careers, they call us Slums. Fitting, really.

Glimmer shoves him harder, and he rises off of me. She reaches out a hand and pulls me up. "Clove and I made a deal with him last night," she says. "He's with us."

* * *

**A/N: This is where it gets a bit tricky. I have not read the second and third novels of the trilogy, and I don't know what Peeta did during the Hunger Games when he was not with Katniss. If I'm wrong, consider the next few chapters to be AU. Just a warning incase I'm not following canon.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight of Twelve:**

I stand, staring at her hesitantly. After seeing her in action, I'm not sure I can trust her. She smiles back at me, and it doesn't look malicious. At least she doesn't break her promises.

"He just killed Heath!" Cato says. "I saw him. He's trying to trick you."

"Heath was an idiot, anyway," remarks the girl from District Four. There's obviously no love between their tributes.

"If he was with us, he would have killed with us," snarls Cato.

He eyes the knife on Glimmer's belt and I wince. My face is so swollen I doubt it shows.

"He was in the action," Marvel says. "I think I saw him."

"Yeah, he killed a guy who was fighting me," Glimmer replies.

"Same here," Clove chimes in. "He killed a guy who was fighting me, too."

"Who cares?" Cato says again. "Let's just kill him."

"He could be useful," says Four. "He could lead us to Katniss."

Cato shrugs. "We'll kill her eventually."

"I don't know, Cato," says Clove. "She got an eleven."

For a moment, the arguing stops. They all glare at each other. I shift on my bad leg awkwardly. There's silence. Then, the cannon fires nearby, loud and obnoxious. I silently count the amount of shots. Eleven. Eleven dead. Within the first few hours of the Games, almost half are dead. I never even knew their names. '_Katniss, I hope you're alright,_' I think.

"So he leads us to the Slum girl," says Cato. "Then we kill him?"

"He could lead us in circles," Marvel says. "That's what I'd do to stay alive longer."

"But he could help us," Clove argues.

"How? He has no training," scoffs Cato.

"I saw him use that knife. He's skilled. And he threw a tribute off me. The guy went flying through the air," she says.

Silence. They ponder my usefulness as if I'm not there. I need to say something to drive the point home: that I'm useful to them and they need me as a resource.

"I saw where they all went," I finally say. Their eyes turn to look at me, like they can't believe I actually talk.

"What?" Four says stupidly.

"The redhead from District Five went into the forest, and so did Katniss and Rue. Thresh, the big guy, he went into the plains. Just like you, they have the highest scores, but unlike you they trust me."

It's my only defense. I'm not even sure if it's completely true, but I'm following what I thought they'd do. District Eleven is agriculture: one of them had to disappear into the field. They'd know the different kinds of edible grains, easily. The rest had to go to the forest. From where we stand we have a clear view of the lake, and it's empty.

"Fine," Cato says. He's clearly taken charge of the pack. "We'll keep him. For now."

They all do some sort of strange, complicated handshake. I'm ignored. Although I'm now apart of their group, I have a feeling they don't plan to keep me for long.

"Let's clear out of here so they can collect the bodies," says Glimmer as she brushes off her hands.

"Wait!" says Clove. "I want to find a first aid kit, first."

We walk back to the Cornucopia in the center, and now I really begin to understand what's inside it. There's food - all kinds of food. Things I have never seen before. Bottles of water, pre-packaged meals, barrels of apples and sweets. Pots and pans for cooking. Even firewood and matches. There's weapons: every weapon imaginable. Knives of all sizes, swords, daggers, spears and spikes. There's first aid kits, rope, sleeping bags, empty plastic bottles, and every other kind of survival gear. It makes the massacre that just occurred slightly more understandable.

I carefully pick out a few knives, especially ones that have a special leg or arm strap. I find a small brown bag deep in the Cornucopia, and fill it with a bottle of water and some food, slinging it over my good arm. Cato tells us to move out.

We walk deep into the forest, out of the view of the arena. I know the hovercrafts will come so silently we won't hear them. We settle in the forest near the lake, and everyone puts down their bags. Cato and Marvel begin discussing strategies for finding the others, and I know they'll grill me on my knowledge later. I'll have to think of something before then. Clove pulls out a first aid kit and looks at me.

"If we're going to keep you,"she says. "We might as well fix that arm."

I look down at it. It looks horrible. The blood and dirt have mixed together and crusted, turning the wound black, and there's pus dribbling out of it. I pull off my shirt, and she silently gets to work. She dabs the wound with a clear liquid. It sizzles when it touches me. I jerk away, but she jerks my arm back.

"Unless you want it to fall off, stop pulling away," she says.

I don't really know what she's doing. All I know is that it's the most painful thing I've ever experienced. I try to concentrate on the others. I see Marvel cleaning his blades in the river. Glimmer and Cato are arguing about something, and I lean forward to listen.

"We can't just leave the Cornucopia," Glimmer says. "They could steal from it and we'd never see them."

"So we leave some behind," suggests Clove, raising her voice for them to hear.

Marvel pockets his knife, shaking his head. "We hunt as a group," he says.

Even this early, I'm beginning to realize Marvel doesn't say much. They continue arguing and I listen to every word. They're discussing if they should starve the first few out. This is knowledge I need to tell Katniss if something goes wrong.

Clove breaks the silence between us. "Where is she now?"

I don't have to ask who. "I'm guessing the forest."

"Why?"

I suddenly understand why she offered to clean my wound. She wants information, and if I don't give it to her, I'm defenseless and she is not. Her green eyes flick up to mine, waiting for an answer.

I shrug. "Her mother is the apothecary of our town. She knows plants."

"What about survival skills?" she inquires.

I shake my head. "I don't know. She didn't know much at practice."

She looks at me, rolling her eyes. "So how did she get an eleven?"

Good question. "I'm not really sure. She stormed off to her room after and didn't talk about it."

"Guess."

"She's sneaky," I reply. "And she's good with knives. We're all good with knives, but she's exceptional. And, um, she has a temper. For all I know, she threw a couple of knives at the Gamemakers and then tried to poison them."

Clove laughs, and it confuses me. I never expected her to be . . . human. To hate the Game and the Gamemakers as much as I do. It makes me uneasy. If I start thinking of them as human, it'll make me weak.

I know right now the audience is probably throwing things at my image on the screen for giving away information about Katniss. Even moreso for joining the Careers - it'll be considered the ultimate betrayal by the poorer Districts. But the smart ones, meaning District Twelve alone, know that we're not good with knives. District Twelve doesn't even eat with knives, let alone throw something that valuable. They have to be figuring out what I'm doing. I can't dwell on what they think - I'm trying to ignore them. I have my plan. I have to stick to it. I don't have time to fill them in on what it is. They have to know by now I'd never hurt her.

"Did you mean it?" Clove says, breaking the silence again.

I jar out of my thoughts, concentrating on what she said. "Which part?"

She keeps her eyes on my wound, dabbing at the blood. " 'Oh Katniss, I've loved you since the day I met you,'" she says in a high pitch voice, mocking me.

"No," I say. "I told you that yesterday."

She shrugs. "Glimmer believes you. I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because Glimmer doesn't believe in love," she says.

It dawns on me what she means, even if she doesn't say it. Clove knows what it's like to love someone, whoever he may be, wherever he may be. She left someone behind. She knows how real my declaration sounded, because she's feeling it, too. It all makes sense, now. There's silence as I think back to yesterday:

_I stand on the roof waiting for Glimmer, wondering if she's going to show. I don't know if she got the note I slipped into her pocket two days ago. Maybe she'll just ignore it. If she does, my only strategy is over._

_The party rages below, the Capitol celebrating our future deaths. I hear the door to the roof open and close, but I don't turn. I want her to come to me. Footsteps approach, and a voice echoes over the empty roof._

_"You should be getting some sleep."_

_I start. It's not the voice I was expecting, a low monotone I heard during the interview. Instead, it's a voice I know well. Katniss' voice._

_I don't want to see her right now, and I don't want her to see me. I don't want her to know what I'm doing. If Glimmer comes up the stairs and sees us, my plan is over. But I can't tell Katniss to go away. I could never do that._

_"I didn't want to miss the party," I say. "It's for us, after all."_

_She comes to stand beside me and leans against the rail, looking down. Her eyes reflect the lights below, and she's beautiful. I love her so much. Everything I'm doing now is for her. I watch her eyebrows furrow, and I wonder what she's thinking._

_"Are they in costumes?" she asks._

_I glance back at the crowd. "Who could tell?" I say. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here."_

_For a moment, we watch the crowd. I need to break the silence; it's unbearable to me. "Couldn't sleep, either?"_

_I need her to leave. I want her to stay._

_"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says._

_"Thinking about your family?" I ask. That's probably what I should be doing, now._

_"No," she says, and I'm surprised. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." A pause. "I'm really sorry about your hands," she says unexpectedly._

_It's too late, now. Glimmer is going to arrive any minute and see Katniss and I together. My plan is over. I have no chance now. I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my heart, wanting to say my last goodbye to Katniss._

_"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I say. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway." Not anymore._

_"That's no way to be thinking," she replies._

_"Why not? It's true," I say. "The best hope is not to disgrace myself and . . ."_

_I don't really know how to tell her the next part. She's going to think I'm crazy._

_"And what?" she prompts me._

_"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I ask her. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."_

_Her confused eyes tell me she doesn't understand. She doesn't get that my last hope was diplomacy toward the Careers, and now I have nothing left. I don't want to spend the Games constantly hiding from them. That's not who I am._

_"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" she asks, and she's so, so far off the mark I want to cry._

_"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," I say._

_And it's true. I thought by making an unlikely alliance with the Careers, it would be a start, but now I have nothing left. There's no intelligence in killing. Now that my planning strategy is over, the part of myself I value the most is gone._

_"But you're not," Katniss says. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."_

_I want to grab her and shake her to make her understand._

_"Okay, but within that framework, there' s still you, there's still me. Don't you see?"_

_She doesn't. "A little," she lies. "Only. . . no offense, but who cares, Peeta?"_

_That hurts. We're not as alike as I wished us to be all these years. "I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?"_

_I turn to stare at her. She takes a step backward. Where is Glimmer? She's not showing._

_"Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive," Katniss says._

_'I'm trying to!' I want to scream at her. But she takes a step back, and I see my chance._

_"Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."_

_She looks pissed. It hurts me, but that's the plan. She needs to get out of here._

_"Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve."_

_If all goes well, that's my plan for her, too. "Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I say. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"_

_Her eyes flare. "Count on it," she says, and then the door is slamming and she's gone._

_I'm angry with myself for drowning in self-pity in front of Katniss. What I did was completely idiotic - it wasn't very attractive. But I don't have time to digest my last conversation in detail. She's barely gone five minutes when the door opens again, and two pairs of feet walk across the gravel. This time, I turn, just wanting to get it over with. I come face to face with Glimmer and another girl, the one from District Two._

_"I got your note," Glimmer says. "Want to say your final goodbyes to us?"_

_The other girl laughs gleefully._

_"No," I say, "I want to make an alliance."_

_They pause, staring at each other, considering me. Glimmer shrugs. "Not interested," she says, turning to walk away._

_I wait a few beats and then call out. "I can help you find Katniss."_

_They stop. Turn. Come back. I know I've peaked their interest._

_Glimmer grins at me. "You want to kill your soulmate? What did you call her . . . the love of your life?"_

_I shrug casually, but my heart is beating hard. "It was an act," I say. "I wanted her to trust me. I've been playing doe-eyed Peeta for weeks, now."_

_District Two's eyebrows furrow. "So you didn't mean any of it?"_

_"Of course not. But she thinks so. She thinks I'll help her because I'm so damn in love with her."_

_Glimmer grins at me. "This is so secret agent, Capitol-style. I love it. You're good."_

_I fake a laugh. "Thank you," I say._

_The other girl doesn't look nearly as convinced. "Why join us? You hate us."_

_I can't deny that fact. I roll my eyes. "We scored the same number. I have just as much skill as you do. We can team up, get the others, and then I'll deal with you. And without me, you'll never find Katniss."_

_There's only a moment of consideration. I'm practically a gift that has floated into their lap from their sponsor. Glimmer stretches her hand out to me. "Deal."_

_We shake. I turn to the District Two girl. She's staring at me with her eyes narrowed. Glimmer nudges her, and she finally sticks her hand out._

_"Clove," she says._

_"Peeta." We shake._

_"Well, we'll see you tomorrow, Lover Boy," Glimmer says._

_Clove studies me. "Don't get too involved in the initial fight," she says. "You won't survive."_

_And then they're walking away. The roof door slams shut and I'm left alone with my thoughts._

I wonder if I made the right decision.

Our conversation has ended, Clove in her own thoughts. Soon the wound is clean, the blood is gone, and she's wrapped it in a basic white bandage. She tucks the end of it away and sits up.

"Put your shirt on, Lover Boy," she says.

By the time I've slowly maneuvered my shirt sleeve over my arm and slid the rest down, they're also bandaged and ready for action. We walk in silence back to the arena, and all the bodies have eerily disappeared. The field is empty and brushed over, like the war never happened. We all take a moment, letting that sink in.

"What do we do now?" I ask, acting nonchalant, like the empty field doesn't bother me.

Cato turns to grin at me.

"We hunt."

* * *

That doesn't happen right away, though. First we spend some time sorting through the Cornucopia, picking out useful weapons and light food. We each fill a pack with food and water from the lake and argue about who will carry the first aid kit, no one wanting the extra weight. Then it's another issue: do we leave the food unattended? No one wants to stay behind. Well, I do, but I don't tell them that. I need to go with them: I need to protect Katniss.

Marvel and I lean against the base of the Cornucopia and Glimmer and Four chat while they sort through their items. Cato and Clove argue it out. It's all they ever do, it seems.

"One of us has to stay," says Cato.

"So, we'll make Peeta stay," she answers.

Cato slashes his blade through the air angrily. "No. I don't trust him."

"Come on, Cato. He helped Glimmer and I in battle. He's with us," she says.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he says.

"Guys, we're wasting valuable time," Glimmer groans.

"So how about you stay behind?"

"Please. You need my tracking skills, you ignorant little-"

I see movement in the corner of my eye and turn away from them. There, at the edge of the forest, is a figure. I think it's male. Yes, it has to be male. It doesn't have long hair, but it's very, very thin and, as far as I can see, has no weapons. Someone has been watching our movements in the arena, and now we have to kill them. ...That's what I tell myself, anyway. In reality, we have to kill them regardless.

Another reason is he's not Katniss, and he could be a threat to her.

My knife isn't large enough. I snatch Cato's knife out of his hands, ignoring his outcry, and fling it in the direction of the boy. '_Please_,' I think, '_Please hit him_'. I practiced throwing knives for too damn long in the training stadium.

It spins and spins, all the Careers now turning to see what I threw it at. The boy hits the dirt floor just as the knife goes whizzing over his head and lodges into a tree behind him. I watch him cover his head with his hands, completely terrified.

Marvel turns to look at me. "Nice throw," he says.

I nod like it was nothing, but my heart is pounding with the adrenaline of what I just did.

Cato and Glimmer are running toward the boy, and I see now how fast they are. I guess being well-fed on something other than stale bread helps your strength. I watch from a distance as they haul him up by his armpits and start dragging him to the Cornucopia, his feet trailing behind him, unable to keep up.

They reach us quickly, and neither of them are out of breath.

"He's yours if you want, Lover Boy," says Glimmer, holding him out like an offering.

It's harder to kill someone close up while millions watch you. I can see now the boy has been crying. His face is streaked with dirt, clean rivers running through it. I raise my knife, not wanting to delay his death any longer.

"I-I-I-I-I...," he says.

I pause. The Careers turn to stare at me.

"You've got to be kidding me," mutters Cato.

"What are you waiting for?" demands Clove.

I shrug, waving my knife at the boy. "It's not like we're going anywhere. Might as well let his District hear his final words," I say. I hate myself more every second for my behaviour.

Four laughs. "He better speak up, then," she says.

We all turn to the boy. He's taking deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. Finally, he says something I least expect.

"I-I can help you."

They all chuckle. I stare at his pleading blue eyes.

"Help us? You?" says Glimmer.

He tries to stand, but Cato shoves him back down. I watch him wince.

"Help us how?" I say.

"With protecting the food. I have an idea t-that'll kill the others if they come near it. So it'll kill the other tributes, I'll get to eat, and you'll have your food protected."

It sounds like a rehearsed speech, but I know it works. I'm intrigued, and judging the Careers faces, they are, also.

"How?" asks Marvel.

The boy looks at the sky nervously. "It might be against the rules..."

"There are no rules," scoffs Glimmer. "It's now or never."

He swallows. "I can reactivate the bombs that were beneath each of our metal discs at the beginning. So if you touch them, or even shuffle on them, they'll explode and kill everything. The downside is if they explode, it'll destroy the food, too," he says. "But by then you'll be well fed and they'll be starving, so it might be easier."

We all stare at him. It's almost too much information to digest in such a short period of time. He must be District Three, machinery. It's the only way he'd know all the information he does.

"Say that again, but slower," says Clove.

He does. And then, under our watchful eyes, he carefully extracts a shovel from the Cornucopia. We all give him plenty of room as he goes digging in the starting area.

"He's going to blow himself up," I say, shocked.

Marvel shrugs. "Could be a good show."

But he doesn't. The boy, who has introduced himself as Artill, carefully extracts a bomb that lay beneath one of our feet. We all stare at it silently, and I know we have the same thought: one move and we would have been dead. You never realize how close you are to death until you actually see the object that could have blown you into a million pieces. Trust me on that.

"It's fine," he says, "They're all deactivated."

None of us move.

He keeps digging until two are out of the ground and laying a few feet apart from each other. When I'm positive they aren't going to detonate, I move closer to listen to what he has to say. But none of it makes any sense - it's all technical jargon from his District. I jog back to the Careers, standing a good distance across the arena.

"What'd he say?" Cato asks.

I shrug. "A lot of nonsense, mostly. He seems to know what he's doing, though."

"And what is he doing?" Clove says, peering over my shoulder to stare at Artill.

"He says his father taught him to reactivate the mines. He'll dig holes and place them strategically around the food, so if anyone steps on it, it'll blow," I say.

Glimmer rolls her eyes. "What about animals?" she asks. "This idea is stupid."

I shake my head. "No, it's not. It's brilliant. The mine needs a certain amount of weight to set it off, and something to do with the sequence of feet - like walking. Only a human could do it."

Cato scoffs. "I'll believe it when I see it," he says.

"You said that about Peeta, and look what happened," Clove giggles, remembering the knife. I laugh along with her.

Artill runs up to us, panting in his excitement. "I can show you a demo, if you want," he says. "I've figured it out."

Four nods. "Go for it," she says.

We watch as Artill carefully carries a single mine to the lake, throws it in and runs away. He reaches us and starts to push us backward a bit. We go easily.

"It's timed," he explains. "It'll go off in about thirty seconds."

We wait. I count down in my head. 5. . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2. . .

The ground shakes and a blast of water three times taller than myself explodes out of the lake. We all jump backwards, not expecting that kind of blast.

Artill grins up at us. "Now imagine that times twenty-three," he says.

There's some quick debate about whether we should leave him or not. Glimmer and I nap on the ground while Clove and Cato argue it out. It's been a long day and I didn't get much sleep last night, and it sounds like we'll be doing most of our hunting at night. I need my rest. The last thing I hear is Artill, arguing that no one will come near the arena while he works on the mines. I wholeheartedly agree.

I jerk awake when I feel a boot gently prodding my side. I look up to find Clove grinning down at me.

"Get up, Lover Boy," she says. "We're moving out."

I glance around. The sun is just beginning to set, casting dark oranges and reds on the arena. It reflects off the Cornucopia so brightly it hurts my eyes. The rest of the Careers are gathering their things, and I see Artill in the corner, working on the mines.

"What's the verdict?" I ask, nodding at Artill.

"We're keeping him tonight," she says. "If we come back tomorrow and anything is missing, Cato'll kill him."

"Sounds like a plan," I say, feeling sick.

I gather my things as Clove fills me in on the agenda, handing me a torch. Tonight we hunt the idiots in the forest who are too stupid to live. We get some rest, and hunting Katniss starts first thing the next night.

Great. I smile at her as we walk towards the forest.

The anthem picks up, and we all take a moment to watch the sky, wondering who has died. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants, hoping I didn't sleep through a cannon that signaled Katniss' death.

First is the girl from District Three, then the boy I killed from Four. The boy from District Five. Both from Six... I think I killed the boy there. Both from District Seven. The boy from District 8... I think I killed him, too. My heart sinks, realizing what I've become. Both from District Nine and the girl from Ten. The sky goes dark.

Katniss is okay. At least that's something.

Glimmer snorts. "We did all of those. None of them killed each other," she says, disgusted.

"Cowards," Four says.

Without another word, we enter the forest.

The setting sun makes shadows appear where they normally would not, my eyes playing tricks on me. I see an entire forest of hidden people, waiting to kill me the moment I enter. It's foolish, and I know it, but I can't help but I grip my knife tighter. I can hear Haymitch grumbling as he watches: I won't receive sponsors if I act like I'm terrified.

The trek is mostly silent. I'm assuming Cato and Clove figured out where we're going, but as far as I can tell, there's no method to it. We drag ourselves deeper and deeper into the forest, winding our way through the dense trees. Glimmer keeps her eyes on the ground.

"There's no tracks here," she says. "I think they're in the trees."

So for the next few hours, half of us hold our torches upward at an awkward angle, searching the trees for any tributes. We take a few breaks, but my body is exhausted, and I'm not sure how much more of it I can take. I need a full night's rest, but I know I won't get that here in the Games. My feet feel like lead as I drag them along the forest floor. My face aches and my right eye, although not swollen shut anymore, is only open a crack. My arm is burning.

The Careers also don't know how to manage food. I guess none of them have ever been hungry before. One stomach growl and they've devoured everything in their packs, and I know we'll have to turn back before morning so they can eat again. It's the only thing that keeps me going: soon we'll be back at the Cornucopia, and hopefully I'll get some rest. It'll be dawn in only an hour or two...

Suddenly, Cato stops. I nearly smash into him. He turns to glare at me, then points ahead, pressing a finger to his lips.

I look over his shoulder. And then freeze.

Someone has started a small fire on the forest floor, the female shape huddled over it, warming her hands. Irrational fear rips through my body.

She has brown hair.

Katniss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine of Thirteen:**

No. It's completely irrational. It's insulting to Katniss to believe she's that stupid. She'd never do anything like that. She'll be in the trees, off the ground. But a little part of me, just a little part, trembles with fear on the off chance that it is her. Because there's not much I can do for her now. I have to try, though.

We each hide behind a tree, moving as quietly as possible. I peer around the side of mine, looking at the girl. She isn't moving. She must be asleep. I can't tell if it's Katniss or not.

Cato signals us by tapping on his tree. Five heads turn to look at him. He motions with his hand that she's asleep, and then raises five fingers. He slowly lowers each one. When there's none left, we charge.

I ignore the pain in my leg, ignore my limp, forcing myself to run as fast as I can. If it's Katniss, I want to get there first. But it's not going to be Katniss. It's not her. It's not her. It's not-

It's not her. As I get closer, I see the girl's hair is pulled back into a ponytail, not a braid, and is a slightly lighter shade of brown. She wakes up with a start just before I reach her, and her hands go protectively up to her face.

"No!" she screams. "Please, please, no, please don't. Please! I'll help you, I'll-!"

Marvel is there one step ahead of me. He yanks her head back by her pony tail. She screams, a raw scream I've never heard in my life before now. He plunges the knife into her throat. The scream is cut off by a harsh gurgling as he pulls the knife back out. I'm going to throw up. I need air. Oh, god, he killed her.

Marvel wipes his blade on her shirt and lets her sag to the ground, unmoving. He looks at me. I try to remain casual.

"Smooth cut," I say. Don't vomit. Don't vomit. Don't vomit.

He smiles, genuinely pleased. "Thanks," he says. "Means a lot, coming from you."

What? It takes me a minute to remember. I'm the knife guy. District Twelve specializes in knives, according to me. Right. It would probably help to remember that.

The other Careers have now joined us, looking at her body. Four laughs.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" she cries. The rest of them hoot, punching the air. I use my bad arm as an excuse not to, but I grin and put my knife away.

"Let's search her for food," Glimmer suggests. I've been listening to her stomach growl for an hour.

Four and Glimmer search the body while the rest of us scavenge the surrounding area. There's nothing here but some firewood and a flint for sparking a flame. She has nothing but the clothes she received and some twine.

Cato, clearly annoyed, kicks her body. "Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," he says.

The rest of them nod and start walking further into the forest. I follow, confused. I thought we would go back after this. They have to be getting hungry without food, and the way they chug their water I'd say their bottles are almost empty. Clove stops walking as soon as we're out of viewing distance. She raises her torch to see our faces.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" she says.

Glimmer looks back the way we came. "I'd say yes," she says. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

Cato rolls his eyes. "Unless she isn't dead."

"She's dead," says Marvel. "I stuck her myself." He shoots me a glance and I nod at him reassuringly.

"Then where's the cannon?" Clove asks again.

Four looks bored. "Someone should go back," she says. "Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah," agrees Clove. "We don't want to have to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!" says Marvel.

I can tell he's hurt that they don't trust his knife skills, as his voice is outraged. A fight breaks out between him and Clove. Marvel says we aren't far enough away from the scene, which is why the cannon hasn't shot. Clove calls him an idiot. Glimmer sides with Marvel. Cato sides with Clove. Four and I stand on the sidelines watching. I turn to face her.

"So, what's your name, anyway?" I ask, but it's practically drowned out by the fighting.

She hears me and rolls her eyes. I guess I'm not getting an answer.

I'm tired and aching and I want to sleep. The fighting has to stop or the pounding in my skull is going to get worse.

"We're wasting time!" I finally yell. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

They pause, turning to me, once again looking like they didn't know I was here. Cato waves in the general direction from which we came.

"Go on, then, Lover Boy," he says. "See for yourself."

I hoist my torch higher in the air with my bad arm, my grip tightening around my knife as I walk back into the forest. I'm not too sure where we came from, but I'm pretty sure it was in this general direction. If I get lost, they'll think I'm completely incompetent and kill me. It's then I hear her whimper, a soft quiet noise coming from somewhere to my left.

I follow the noise and find her on the ground where we left her, her fire just embers now, starting to die down. She's lying in a pool of her own blood, her entire face covered in the thick substance. I look at her and heave. It's only then she notices me, reaching a shaky hand out in my direction.

"Please," she whispers, and I can still hear the gurgle. I choke back another heave. "Please. I want to go home."

I can't hesitate. She's in so much pain and it wouldn't be fair to watch her suffer. I kneel down next to her, placing my hand on her head gently. Her hair is soft.

"You're going home," I whisper. "Promise."

Then I plunge my knife into her chest.

It's just as easy as the first time I did it, but I can't stop the tears from coming to my eyes at her shocked expression. She convulses, gasps, and then her body goes still. I check her pulse. Nothing. I gently fold her hands on top of each other and brush the hair off her head.

"I hope you make it home," I say.

I barely make it two feet before I vomit. I hope the Careers don't hear me. If I don't head back soon, they're going to wonder what's happened. I quickly cover the evidence in leaves, wipe off my knife and shakily head back to their voices.

There's silence as I approach them. They're all standing awkwardly, so I guess they were talking about me or Katniss. Cato breaks it first.

"Was she dead?" he asks.

"No. But she is now," I say. The cannon fires to prove my point. "Ready to move on?"

They agree, irritable and tired now, and I know we'll head back to the Cornucopia. But it's still another few hours away, so we set off at a run. Again no one speaks, our bodies and minds completely exhausted. We make it back when the sun is already high in the sky, birds chirping. I make a mental calendar in my mind and cross off yesterday. One day down and I'm still alive, and so is Katniss. It's a start.

Artill is still working on the mines when we arrive. I see six holes dug and the mines laying next to him. He's covered in sweat and dirt. We stand around him.

"How's it going?" asks Clove.

"Good so far," he says. "No one showed up."

"And the mines?"

"Work in progress. Haven't put any in, yet, so it's safe to eat what you want," he says, and goes back to work.

We all take special precautions walking to the food pile, just in case. I eat a decent meal of bread and some strange thing Glimmer calls 'peanut' butter ("Only a Slum has never heard of peanut butter!" she cackled) but it's warm and sticky and good. It's better than anything I've ever eaten in the Seam.

We take shifts. I get to sleep first, so I lay down in a sleeping bag next to Clove. No one says anything as we quickly fall into a deep sleep, too exhausted to even think over the day.

But when I'm awakened a few hours later to take my shift, I do a lot of thinking.

Right now my parents have already made their bread for the day and are starting to sell it in the market. My mother has probably berated my father a million times for not kneading the dough enough. They eat the stale bread from yesterday as a meal, so different from what I've been eating the past few weeks. I wonder if they're watching me right now. I wonder what District Twelve thinks of me. I wonder what my sponsors think of me now, if I have any. Do _they_ think my love for Katniss was a fraud?

Katniss. If this was an ordinary day, Katniss would be selling a squirrel to my father while my mother is out on an errand. She's so damn skilled with a bow. My father would cook it and share it with me before my mother returned, our little secret. Katniss helped my father and I to grow closer. We bonded together against the abuse my mother doled out. I can almost hear his voice now:

"See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner."

I didn't really fall in love with her just then. I became obsessed with her, following her around school, watching her with her little sister, wandering through the marketplace with her father. If my father thought she was special, then I did, too. It was only after weeks of watching her I fell in love with her. When I myself started to realize how special she really was. Her loyalty, strength and bravery, but most of all her ability to survive.

But I know now these are things I've seen only recently from Katniss. Remembering back, I wonder what I really knew about her before the Games. When her name was called, I felt like I was going to cry, so afraid that I'd never see her again. My heart had physically hurt. Now, though, I don't feel like crying over her. It's only now, after I've spent weeks with her, do I fiercely want to protect her. I'd do anything for her, including live with the Careers who could kill me any minute, just to make sure she'll be okay.

Now I feel like I know her. I know her mood swings, her personality, her likes and dislikes, even the way she smells. It makes it so much harder to be in the Games with her, finally knowing her and now having her as an enemy. I realize now how safer I was before, when I only knew basic tidbits about her: She loves her sister. She's a skilled hunter. Every boy in school admired her from afar, but none ever got close enough to talk to her. Save one.

Gale Hawthorne.

A pit of jealousy appears in my stomach. I used to like Gale. He was nice to everyone. When I saw he was hunting with Katniss I was relieved that someone was in the forest to protect her. But when he ran out of the crowd to pull Primrose back during the reaping, I saw her face. And his face. There was no denying the look that passed between them. She loves him. She wants to go back to him. And despite everything I'm doing to protect her, I don't stand a chance against tall, dark, handsome Gale.

Everything I'm doing will hopefully lead her back to him.

And if she's happy, then I am, too.

But right now, there's nothing Gale can do for her. At this point, the only help she has is me. And what if I've ruined it? What if the audience doesn't understand what I'm doing and we lose sponsors? I need to somehow convey to them I'm doing all of this for Katniss. I glance around at the sleeping bodies lying nearby, and Marvel standing opposite me. I catch his eye and point to the forest.

"Need to take a leak. That okay?" I ask.

"Take a knife," he reminds me.

It's scary knowing you could be killed any minute, especially when you're in the forest alone. I'm beginning to understand what it's like for the other tributes who aren't in a Pack, living here by themselves. It must be terrifying, not knowing if they can find food and thinking someone could attack them at any moment. I'm terrified just walking in here and it's broad daylight. But I'm sure Katniss is doing okay - she probably loves the forest.

I keep walking until the Cornucopia is out of sight, leaving Marvel standing watch. I pick a spot where I'm easy viewable from the sky, and wait a moment, hoping the cameras have turned their attention to me. If there's fighting anywhere else in the Games, I know I won't be interesting. I take a deep breath and wave at the sky, feeling ridiculous.

"Hey District Twelve. It's Day Two and I'm doing okay." I pause. "Well, I'm just a _little_ beaten up, but I think it really works on me, don't you?" I ask the empty sky. I smile.

"I hope Katniss is alright, too, and you're all looking out for her," I say. "Tell her I love her, will you?"

This is ridiculous. I'm talking to the sky. But if it means gaining sponsors, or at least keeping the ones we had, I need to seem charming. I glance around, listening intently for footsteps, but hear nothing.

"So," I continue, "I hope you've figured out my plan by now, and don't worry - she's in on it."

I don't know if that's true, but I'm not doubting Katniss' intelligence. If she's been watching us at all from the forest she knows I'm with the Careers, but she also knows how much I hate them. I'm sure she's figured it out by now. And now the audience knows everything I need them to.

"Well...Happy Games," I end with, waving again.

There's silence for a moment, only the mockingjays chirping a cheerful tune. But then I hear a click come from somewhere in the sky, loud and unnatural in the forest. I drop to the ground, covering my head with my hands. I've watched these Games for too long to know an unnatural sound is never a good sign.

But nothing happens. I stay rooted to the ground, breathing in the moist soil and decaying leaves, but the birds continue to sing and the world is otherwise silent. Slowly, I stand again, my heart pumping fast with adrenaline and my eyes quickly searching the forest. Then I run.

I make it to the edge of the forest with no attacks. I slow my breathing, not wanting Marvel suspicious, as I brush off my clothes and walk back. He notices the dirt, despite my efforts, and grips his spear tighter.

"What happened to you?" he asks.

"I tripped over a branch," I say.

He raises his eyebrows and I shrug and look away, re-pocketing my knife and taking up my position facing the forest.

It's only when my shift is over that I realize the noise was a camera. They snapped a picture of me, which means all of Panem watched my performance. My only hope is that it worked.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten of Twelve:**

We spend most of the day at the Cornucopia, resting and refilling our supplies. Clove changes my bandage, and my eye, according to her, is starting to appear normal. It still hurts like hell, and I splash cold water from the lake on it, trying to get the swelling to go down.

The Careers eat whatever they wish to, and I'm guessing the food will only last two more weeks. I eat as lightly as I can, not wanting to gorge myself and be sick, but also because I've watched Games that have lasted a month before. I really hope it doesn't come to that.

I rest in the shade of the forest while Cato and Clove practice with swords. Glimmer and Four are sleeping from after the last shift. Artill is up and working on his mines. He's now digging holes strategically around the Cornucopia, and I'm guessing he has another day before he starts to reactivate the mines and place them into the holes. I plan my schedule around that, wanting to be as far away as possible.

Marvel comes over and sits next to me

"That kid is a little freak show," he says, nodding at Artill, who's now muttering to himself.

"He's good, though," I say.

"Yeah," he says. There's a pause. "It's too bad we have to kill him."

I look at Marvel, feeling alarmed. "Right now?"

"No. But eventually," he says.

Oh. "We all gotta go sometime," I say.

He nods. "Yeah, I guess."

We sit in more silence, but I get the feeling he wants to say more. I keep my eyes away from him, letting him gather his thoughts. We watch Artill mutter for a few minutes.

"I trained my entire life for this moment," Marvel finally says, "But I never thought it would actually happen."

My guess is the cameras aren't fixed on us now, or at least there's no sound. The Capitol wouldn't want to hear this from a Career. None of us are supposed to show fear or hatred of the Games, but the Careers are the perfect example of what every District child under eighteen should strive to become: fearless, brave and wanting to be chosen.

"Me, too," I say. "Except the whole training bit."

He chuckles. "That could work in your favour," he says.

"How?" I ask, mystified.

He keeps his eyes trained on Artill. "Element of surprise," he says. "You walked in here knowing my skill."

"At least you have a skill," I say.

"At least you had a life," he replies.

I don't know what to say to that, but it seems Marvel doesn't expect an answer. He instead changes the topic abruptly, and I wonder if the entire conversation before was just to soften me up.

"You explore the field yet?" he asks.

I glance to my left. The tall grass, swaying softly in the wind, looks even more ominous than the dark forest. All I can think of are snakes and other hidden creatures, ready to pounce.

"No," I say. "It's not really anywhere I want to go."

He nod. "Yeah, I get that. You think Katniss went in there?"

Of course it would return to Katniss.

"No," I say. "We've never seen anything like that before. She'll stay in the forest because she knows it. . .'s where she can see her surroundings. Watch for danger. That kind of stuff."

I wince at my messy, muddled sentence, convinced I've given the most valuable piece of information away, that Katniss hunts. I almost said she'd stay there because it's familiar to her. I take a quick glance at Marvel, but if he caught anything, he's not reacting to it. Instead, he's studying the tall grassy plain.

"What do you think it's for?" he asks.

I stare at him. "For?"

"Yeah," he says. "Lake is for water, forest is for cover, but who would go for the field?"

"District Eleven," I say automatically. He turns to look at me. "Well, they're agriculture, right? Maybe it's like, familiar to them."

He laughs again. "Lucky. There's nothing familiar about this place to me," he says.

He stands and reaches a hand out to me. I take it and he pulls me up, and together we wake Four and Glimmer before approaching Cato and Clove. Cato tucks his sword into his belt, walking the rest of the way toward us.

"What's up?" he asks.

"I think we should get going. I want to set traps," Marvel says.

"What kind of traps?" Four asks.

"Nets, mostly. Peeta says they'll be hiding in the trees," he replies.

I gawk. Katniss will be expecting a lot of things from the Careers, but nets are something she won't be. I almost flinch at the image of her, hanging upside down, caught in a net. I have to say something.

"Don't bother. Katniss won't get caught in one," I say.

They turn to look at me. "Why not?"

I think quickly. "Haymitch, our mentor, warned us about nets," I say. "She'll be looking out for them."

I can almost hear Haymitch's snort of annoyance, but I don't care. At least he's good for something: pretending that he actually trained us well.

Marvel shrugs. "So we'll set some metal traps on the ground, too."

There's nothing else I can say, so instead I just nod. "Good plan."

We spend some time gathering supplies, net and snares, as well as refilling our packs with food and weapons. It's then I spot the silver bow and arrow in the Cornucopia, having forgotten about it since the start of the Games. It's what Katniss was staring at so intently when we stood in a circle, waiting for the Games to start.

I gulp, glancing around. If I could find Katniss, or even if she just watches me pass by in the forest, she'd see the bow and arrows and know I'm holding them for her. She could give me some sort of signal, and I could sneak away from the Pack and give them to her. With her best weapon, she could survive in the forest just fine.

Glimmer catches me staring and follows my eyes. I try to train them on a spear instead, but I'm too late.

"You know how to use a bow?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"No," I say. There's no point in lying. "I wish I could, though. It would be really useful."

"Useful how?"

"For shooting things from a distance," I say. "Maybe shooting at tributes in trees."

She laughs. "Good point," she says, and picks up the bow and arrow. "I can use it. If I shoot anything, I'll give you credit."

I chuckle back. "I appreciate that," I say.

She swings the sheath of arrows over her arm and takes the bow in her other hand, smiling at me. I smile back. It's not the best plan, but at least the arrows will be near me at all times. If I come across Katniss, maybe I can sneak them away, somehow. I'm not really sure, yet.

We leave Artill to his work once again, carrying the nets for miles, setting them strategically in trees. Cato only wants them in areas that can view the Cornucopia easily.

"They'll definitely be spying on us," he says.

My only hope is that the nets are messily hidden. Katniss, with a trained hunter's eye, would be able to spot them a mile away. ...I think.

The sky is starting to darken as we make our way further and further into the forest. The anthem picks up, and we all move to a clear area of the sky to see if anyone has died. No pictures show. Cato snorts.

"Not a single fighter amongst them," he mutters. "Making us do all the work."

I trek behind the Careers quietly, not speaking to any of them. I file away another strategy of theirs, incase I ever get away from them: they sleep during the day and work at night. With torches and flashlights, they're able to get away with it.

Our bottles are almost empty when we come across a stream a few hours later. They all mutter with relief as they refill, adding iodine to their water and waiting for it to work.

"We should rest here for a bit," says Four.

They lean against a tree, talking quietly. I refill my bottle, but my eyes are on the darkness ahead. There's something wrong with the picture. The stream is babbling noisily, but there's something else. Something oddly familiar.

"Shut up for a second," I say to the Careers.

Unlike my friends at school, they go instantly quiet. They don't want to miss a kill. They pause for a few seconds, and I tentatively sniff the air. So familiar. . .

"I don't hear anything," says Cato.

But then we do. Then there's a rumble on the ground, getting louder and louder. Suddenly, a herd of deer go running past.

"What the-" exclaims Glimmer.

She doesn't have to finish that sentence, because now we all see it. A giant wall of fire, as bright as the sun, headed our way. The scent I recognize after spending months tending the flames at home. Smoke.

"Run!" I scream.

We're up and moving instantly, galloping through the forest. I don't really know where to go; my eyes can't adjust to the strange shadows and shapes fast enough, so I follow Marvel, the fastest of our group, as he hurdles through the forest. But we're no match against the fire, and it's gaining on us. A branch above me cracks, sending sparks down over my head and shoulders, and I brush them off as fast as I can, feeling the burn on my hands.

The smoke soon surpasses the flames, but I'm used to it. Smoke inhalation is nothing for me, spending my days by the fire. I'm almost comforted by the thick cloud, the burning in my lungs and throat and my watery eyes from the heat. The Careers are not so happy. They choke and cough, spluttering as they try to find their way through the forest. Clove stops beside me, gasping for air. I know she can't breathe. She's not getting enough oxygen. For a fleeting moment I think of leaving her to die.

I can't do it.

I run back to her, keeping a close eye on the flames, and shove her shirt up, holding it against her mouth. I grab her arm and force her to run. Even I can't avoid the flames now. I feel them licking against my heels, singeing the hair on my head and eyebrows. Glimmer screams, and I wonder if her long, blonde hair is on fire. But there's no time to think about that. We have to run.

This isn't a natural fire, or else it would have burned out by now. I've watched the Hunger Games for too long to know the Gamemakers have set this up. They're sitting in a control room, drinking some of that delicious hot chocolate while they throw flames at me. I wonder how many perished in the fire, still asleep when it hit. Death by fire is far worse than any stab to the throat. I'm out of breath from running and there isn't enough oxygen anymore. My arms and legs hurt, probably from the burns, and I'm not sure how much further I can go. I'm practically carrying Clove on my back.

We stop when we can see, our vision not clouded by smoke. Cato catches sight of Clove and runs to us.

"What happened? Is she okay?" he asks frantically.

I try to speak, but my mouth is too dry. He offers me his water and I gulp it before I answer.

"She inhaled too much smoke," I choke out.

We feed her water, drop by drop, until she's able to stand on her own. I turn to look at the Careers, and they look horrible. They're covered in black, and I was right - part of Glimmer's hair is burned, Marvel helping her to cut it with scissors. We're all gasping for breath, and the burns are starting to...well, burn. It's something I'm used to, but it's a pain I haven't felt in a while.

I'm about to survey the damage of my own body when I hear a crack, and then a sizzle. A ball of fire goes shooting at me, and I barely have time to duck before another fires, almost hitting Marvel.

"Oh, fuck," whispers Cato, breathing heavily. And we're running again.

But this time it isn't against a wall of fire, something we were able to outrun. Now fireballs are flying in every direction, and we only get a quick hissing sound as a warning before they're on us. I hear a yell every so often from a Career, and I wonder if they've been hit. I turn to look, but in the process a fire ball hits my chest. The pain is immediate, and I'm rolling on the ground before I can stop myself. I'm running again as soon as I know it's out, not even taking the time to inspect the damage. But I can feel the sickening burn on my chest as it radiates outward, a slow burn that increases with every step forward. I force myself to keep moving: It's life or death now, and I refuse to die from smoke inhalation. I refuse.

I stop paying attention to the others after that, focusing on staying alive. They're not here to kill us, I remind myself. They can't be. That wouldn't amuse the audience, if the Gamemakers just knocked us off, one by one. They just want to herd us toward the other tributes so we can kill each other.

Much more interesting.

It's almost an hour before the attacks end. We keep running until we're positive we haven't heard a hiss for a good five minutes, but both my ears are ringing, so I can't be sure. We continue to stand just in case, trying to catch our breaths. Both Marvel and Glimmer are heaving up their lunch, and I turn away. If I see them vomiting, I might start.

I finally examine my injuries. Most are nothing too severe - a small burn on the back of my leg, another on my arm, one on my hand where I batted off the sparks from the falling branch. I can easily submerge them in the lake when we return to Cornucopia and I'll be good as new. But I can feel the heat coming from the burn mark on my chest, and I don't even want to examine it to see how bad it is. There's nothing I can do about it now, anyway.

I move to check out the others, needing the distraction. Glimmer has some scratches from where she fell in the forest, but she's already tending to them. Marvel looks shaken, but is otherwise okay. He's missing his black jacket, which I'm guessing caught on fire while we were running. Four has a bad burn on her arm, and she cradles it against her, whimpering. I forget that people consider burns the worst injury in the Games. I've never really seen the big deal - at least the skin isn't broken.

Cato has a burn on his face and a few on his shoulders, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are on Clove. He's holding her against him, brushing hair off her face. I watch them for a minute, surprised. They look so tender. They like...

He kisses her, his lips just barely brushing hers. My mouth practically drops to the forest floor.

"You and Katniss aren't the only super couple in these Games," says a voice behind me.

I know it's Marvel, but I don't answer him. I can't believe it. Or can I? They're always together, even if they're fighting. They seemed close from the moment they walked into the stadium. Clove knew what it was like to love somebody. I wince as I realize it: she's in the same position I am. Eventually, one of them has to die. And I don't wish that on anymore, even a Career.

I give them the privacy they need as I go to Four first, looking at her burns. She hides her arm from me, not wanting me to touch it.

"I'm fine," she says, but her voice is shaky.

"Let me see. I'm good with burns," I say.

She watches for warily for a few minutes before slowly sticking out her arm. I pull back her sleeve and examine it. It's bad. It's already beginning to blister and break, and I hear her inhale shakily.

"I can get a few herbs from the forest and fix this," I say, examining the wound.

She looks at me like I'm crazy. Then she looks pointedly at the sky.

"Burn cream," she says.

A second later a tiny pot, just big enough for one person, falls from the sky in a little silver parachute. She catches it with her good arm and opens the lid. The medicinal smell is far better than anything I could do with material in the forest, and probably costs more money than I've seen in my lifetime. Her sponsors must be excellent. I look around. It turns out all the Careers have received a small package of goodies from their sponsors. Cato is pressing a small device to Clove's mouth, which apparently is helping her to breathe. I see his own tiny pot of burn medication sitting nearby. The only one who didn't receive anything is Glimmer, as everything she needs to clean her scratches is in the first aid kit.

I sit down to help her with her wounds, noticing with relief the bow and arrow are still intact, laying next to her on the forest floor.

"No sponsor gifts?" I ask casually.

She shrugs. "I don't need anything right now. They'll help me if I ask. Watch," she says.

She looks up at the sky. "Ice."

A second later a small parcel of ice has landed on the ground. She sucks one into her mouth and places the others on her wounds, wincing at the touch. I watch her ice her wounds casually, feeling bitter. Glimmer, being from District One, probably has hundreds of mentors still alive who can help her. People much more skilled and sober than Haymitch and who actually _want_ to help her, and judging by all their gifts, they have more sponsors than District Twelve has had since the Games began.

Glimmer watches me watching her. "Those burns look bad. No gifts from your sponsors?" she asks. I can hear the smirk.

I shrug. "They're not so bad. I don't need anything," I say.

Already, though, the wounds are starting to feel raw, and I know by tomorrow they'll just be worse. At home, a burn like this would be easy to handle. But here, where I need to be able to wield a knife at all times, it could hurt me. I could call Haymitch, but he's probably in a drunken stupor right now, unknowing of my pain. Cato is tending to his own burns now and laughs at my comment.

"District Twelve, the couple who were on fire," he chuckles. "He doesn't need any burn medicine."

Couple. Katniss. I had been so focused on staying alive, I completely forgot about her. Was she in the forest, too? They wouldn't have started a fire unless we were close to someone else in the forest, wanting to drive us together. What if she didn't escape in time and the flames engulfed her? Instantly, I feel sick. What if the Gamemakers were playing with us, the couple of District Twelve? They put us on fire to make the audience laugh at the irony. If my plan backfired and actually hurt instead of helped us. . .

No. They wouldn't kill her. Being a couple has entranced the audience, so they couldn't kill one of us. It would make them look bad. Our deaths have to come from the other tributes, preferably when we're together. It would be more tragic that way.

"Did anyone hear a cannon shot?" I ask.

They all stare at me.

"Um, sorry, but I was a little busy running for my fucking life," says Cato.

"Who could hear anything over the roar of that fire?" Glimmer adds.

But none of them heard a cannon shot, so it must be okay. I think Cato, of all people, would have heard it. He lives for that kind of thing.

We rest on the singed ground, listening as birds slowly make their way back to the burned forest. Beams of sunlight pass through the forest canopy, and I begin to see how dirty we all are from the flames. The Careers, always known as the most beautiful people of the Games, are looking worn out and tired, smears of dirt covering their face and their hair in tangles. The back of Glimmer's hair is black where a fireball singed it off. I wonder what the audience thinks of us, now that we're not the made-up people on the televisions screen anymore. Do the other Careers, watching at home, still want to join in the Games when they realize even they aren't invincible? It's not just other tributes you need to look out for: the Gamemakers can do anything they want to you.

"What a great way to start the day," Clove mutters, her voice hoarse.

And she's right. We're only three days into the Games, and I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.

"We should head back to camp," I say. "Rest for a bit and wait for the burns to heal."

Clove and Cato look like they're going to agree, for once, but Marvel shakes his head.

"No," he says. "The Gamemakers started a fire to drive us all together. I'm guessing there's two or three other tributes in the area."

Clove starts to say something, coughs, and puts the small, metal device to her mouth again. It makes a strange sound, like sucking in air, and she pulls it away again. Cato places a hand on her back, rubbing gently.

"They're not going anywhere," he says. "We can come back at night."

"Or they could do something worse tomorrow night to drive us together again," Glimmer argues. "We might as well do it now, while we're in better shape. At least make an effort to, anyway."

We all consider that option. We're all exhausted, sore and hungry, but we'll be even worse tomorrow night. A few years ago, the Careers had gotten so suspicious of one another they had killed each other within a week, leaving only the "hiders" instead of the fighters left. The Gamemakers had continuously thrown obstacles their way until they were forced to fight each other. If we head back now, they could drop a bomb on us, or release a pack of wild animals. It's almost safer to continue, despite our injuries.

"Let's go, then," Four says. "But we should find water, first."

We all agree to that plan, and slowly make our way through the forest in search of water. Cato has a device, much like a compass, that directs you to water, and it's only an hour before we find a stream. I tend to my smaller burns first, the cold water an instant relief. It's only when they're feeling numb do I even consider looking at my chest.

I pull off the jacket first, taking time to inspect the damage. There's a gaping hole in the middle of the jacket where the fireball hit me. Maybe I can sew it when I reach the Cornucopia. I place it to the side and pull off my shirt, bracing myself as I glance down at the burn.

It's bright red already, with huge blisters forming across the skin, some already broken. I prod it gently and wince at the pain. I've never had a burn this horrific before, and I'm not too sure what to do with it. I look at the sky, hoping for a small parcel to come floating down toward me, but nothing comes. I should have my head examined for thinking Haymitch would ever help me.

I splash water on it, searching the forest for the plant that helps with burns, really the only flora I know. My father keeps the spiky looking plant in a pot by our window at home, having traded five loaves of fresh bread for it from Katniss' mother. But I can't find it. I search up and down the bank, but it's no where to be found. Maybe I'll have better luck on the walk back to the Cornucopia.

We take our sweet time at the stream, drinking copious amounts of water and trying to regain our strength. The forest is still smoky, but there's a slight breeze in the air, and I can't help but wonder if it's manufactured, meant to blow the smoke away from us and give us a short respite.

Cato walks over to me. "You think your girl got away from that, Lover Boy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

"She's not my girl," I say instantly. "And I don't know. I don't think there's any skill in running from a wall of fire. Just luck."

He slaps me on the back. "Let's hope she doesn't have any, then," he says.

It's takes us a while to actually start walking, and it's almost evening when we finally do. We keep next to the stream, following its winding movements. After what just happened, I don't think any of us can bear being away from it. It's the ultimate protection against fire. We follow the muddy bank for a good half a mile, Cato, Clove and I leading, Marvel, Glimmer and Four not far behind. I'm staring at the ground, trying not to trip over rocks, when Cato grabs my arm, stopping short. I wince as his grip tightens on my wound.

"What?" I ask, annoyed.

His face looks shocked. So shocked I know instantly what it means.

Dread settles in my stomach as I follow his gaze. And there, slumped against a tree, is Katniss. She's not moving. For one horrifying second I think she's dead, but there hasn't been a cannon shot. She's probably asleep.

"Jackpot," Cato whispers.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven of Twelve:**

If she is awake, she still hasn't noticed us.

My heart skips a beat, and then another, until it's practically running around in my chest. I don't know how I can warn her without giving myself away. So I do the one thing my father taught me: I follow my heart. I run.

I charge at her, Cato close behind, but with a much different purpose. I kick stones, splash in the water, and generally make myself look like a giant oaf who cannot run. But it works. Katniss wakes instantly at the sound of the rocks rolling against each other, and she's on her feet and sprinting through the forest in seconds.

She's fast. Faster than any of us.

I lunge through the forest, pulling out my knife to use against the others if necessary. But all I can see is a wisp of her hair, flying loosely as she runs ahead of me. Cato is swearing under his breath, and Marvel is yelling at us to hurry up. I hear Clove wheezing not far behind.

The panting is not helping our already sore lungs, and I can't stop myself from coughing, slowing down my pace. The others are doing the same, our lungs burning so much it's hard to breathe. But Katniss is slowing, too. I can see her now, not far ahead, and she's limping. Her hair is black on the end, completely ash, and I realize that she was caught in the fire, too. Marvel and Glimmer pass the rest of us, not as hurt from the flames, and I watch in horror at they close in.

She's going to be caught.

They're going to kill her.

What can I do? What can I do? What can I do?

As it turns out, I don't have to do anything. I watch as Katniss lunges at a tree, climbing it like nothing I've ever seen. She's as fast as she is running on flat ground, pulling herself branch over branch until she's a good twenty feet above us. We reach the bottom of the tree just as she settles on a branch, and I watch her wince, glancing at her hands. They must be badly burned, the bark of the tree agony for her. But then she turns to look down at us and her face is an emotionless mask.

She surveys us. We survey her. I see Cato grinning out of the corner of my eye. I know he thinks this is it: the night we kill Katniss. Somehow, even though she's stuck in the tree, I still doubt it. She's too good.

Katniss face suddenly breaks out into a smile. "How's everything with you?" she asks.

Her voice is full of false cheer, but I know the others buy it. They haven't spent enough time with Katniss to understand her sarcasm.

"Well enough," says Cato. He loves a game. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?

Now I smile. She's working the audience, making her look good. Making us look good. They're probably eating this up with a spoon.

"Think I will," says Cato.

I look at him incredulously. The tree is tall and thin, the branches getting smaller the higher they go, and Cato is the heaviest of us all. He'll barely make it to the fourth or fifth branch before it starts to seriously bow under his weight. It doesn't take much to notice that Katniss is a good fifty pounds lighter than any of us, even Glimmer, the lightest of the Careers.

"Here, take this, Cato," says Glimmer, and she hands him the bow and arrow.

I look up quickly to see Katniss' eyes bulge at the sight of the arrows, licking her lips with want. I knew she was after the bow in the Cornucopia! But then her eyes narrow into slits, and I drop my gaze to my knife, idly cleaning it. I can feel the heat of her gaze, like daggers as she stares at me. She thinks I betrayed her by giving the bow to Glimmer. She must think that. I know I would. '_I know how it looks_,' I want to scream at her. '_But it's not what you think!_'

"No," says Cato, rejecting Glimmer's offer. "I'll do better with my sword."

He walks to the base of the tree, hesitates, and then slowly hoists himself upward onto the first branch. There's movement above, and my eyes go up to watch Katniss, swinging herself higher and higher in the branches. There's no doubt to anyone here, probably the audience as well, that she belongs in the forest. Her body is completely in tune with the tree's movement, following its sway as she climbs up, instinctively knowing what branch is strong enough for her weight. She climbs higher in the tree until she's just a speck soaring far, far above us. I can barely see her through the smoky haze the fire left behind.

Cato is climbing much slower than Katniss, unsure of which branch he should reach for. The branches bend and groan under his weight, and his legs wobble, not used to the small, shaking tree limbs. He's barely up ten feet when I hear the expected crack, a yell, and Cato goes tumbling to the ground, his arms flailing. He hits the ground so hard it shakes, but he's too solid to break any limbs. Clove gasps next to me, running to him. I hold back a smile and look up at Katniss. She's easily ninety feet by now, watching the entire show.

Cato ignores Clove's anxious hands as he jumps to his feet, swearing furiously.

"Are you okay?" I ask, biting back my smile.

He glares at me. "Glimmer, climb the fucking tree!" he roars.

She nods, handing her backpack to Four and slinging the bow over her arm as she pulls herself up. For a moment, I'm worried. She's still a lot heavier than Katniss, but she's light enough that within seconds she's passed where Cato fell, steadily climbing. She's barely twenty feet when the branches start to groan under her weight, also. She immediately stops moving and clutches at the tree. We all watch, Katniss included, as she carefully pulls an arrow out of its sheath and places it on the bow.

My heart stops as I watch her aim and fire, but Katniss doesn't even flinch. The force of the arrow isn't strong enough to hurt her, and she watches it fly in a lazy arc and lodge itself into the tree. Katniss pulls it out and waves it as us, taunting the Careers.

Glimmer shimmies down to the ground, and we all move a foot or two away from the tree, huddling into a group. They all stare at me, their eyes full of anger.

"You didn't tell us she could climb trees like that," Four accuses.

"I didn't know," I snap back. "But it's not hard to guess. She's easily fifty pounds lighter than any of us."

"Let's just cut the fucking tree down," says Cato.

"And how do you plan to do that, exactly?" asks Clove. "You don't have an axe."

"We could use the sword," he says. "This might be our only chance to get her."

"Let's just set it on fire," says Marvel.

I can feel the urgency in the air. Someone has to die tonight, or else the fire might come back. The Careers can control their deaths, to a degree, if they fight other players, but they have nothing against the Gamemakers. You won't outwit them. Sometimes you can't even outrun them. Someone has to die, Katniss is in a tree with no where else to go and they need to bring her down. Their thinking isn't rational anymore.

I need to convince them to go back to the Cornucopia. Even if only half of them go, Katniss might be able to fight two or three of us. Especially if I'm by her side to help.

"The sword will take forever," I argue. "She might figure something else out by then. And I don't want the fire to get out of control. Not after what just happened."

"Then what do you suggest?" asks Clove.

I pause. "Half of us go back to the Cornucopia and get supplies," I say. "Weapons and food, especially. Then we can take her out."

"No," says Four. "It's almost half a days journey."

So we argue for hours about what to do. Setting the tree on fire is quickly dismissed, because none of us want to deal with a forest fire anytime soon. Cato slices at a nearby tree with his sword, and it leaves only the slightest scratch on the bark. That idea is thrown out, also. The Careers have no options, and they see that, but they refuse to give up. I'm wasting time. I need to give Katniss an opening.

"Oh, let her stay up there," I finally say, loud enough for her to hear. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

I act annoyed, irritated, tired and any other emotion I can think of. It works. Cato is the last one to back down, but a quiet talk from Clove and he's nodding his head. It's beginning to grow dark in the forest, so we light our torches, the heat of them irritating my burns. We eat from our Packs and quietly discuss strategy. I keep an eye on Katniss far above me, but now with the dark and smoke working together I can't see her.

When my burns become too irritated by the torches I walk away from the Careers, checking the forest for the plant that can relieve my pain, keeping my torch low to the ground. But again, it's nowhere in sight. The burn on my chest is getting worse, aching with every twist of my body and feeling like it's on fire. I don't need to look at it to know the skin is dead. What worries me the most is I don't even feel the burn directly where the fireball hit. I don't feel anything in that area. It's the surrounding area that hurts, where the blisters rub against my shirt and make me feel sick.

I hear footsteps behind me and turn, my knife drawn. But it's only Marvel, carrying a torch of his own.

"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously.

"Looking for a plant that helps with burns," I say. "But it's not here."

"Why don't you ask your mentor?"

I laugh at him. Like Haymitch would ever do that. I'm here, badly burned, with no help. And Katniss, his favourite, is in a tree, also badly burned, and yet no little silver parachutes for us. She's probably much worse than I am, judging by her slumped figure at the stream and her limp. My laugh breaks off as an idea suddenly forms in my mind. Haymitch may not be watching me, but he has to be watching Katniss, and now we're together. I choose my words carefully, nod at Marvel to get his attention, and then look at the sky.

"Hey Haymitch, any possibility of getting burn medication for your badly injured tribute?" I ask.

We wait. Nothing happens. If he's been following us, he'll understand the message: I'm on the forest floor and can find the plant. Katniss is stuck in a tree. Somewhere in that skull, Haymitch has a brain. I turn back to Marvel, raising my eyebrows.

"That sucks," he says. "By your appeal in the pre-Games, I was sure you'd have sponsors."

I say nothing because I know I have sponsors. I have to. Haymitch is just a lazy drunk who can't manage them for me. I bite down my anger and continue to look for the plant, wishing all the while Katniss could help me. I bet she'd find it instantly.

Surprisingly, Marvel helps me. I describe the plant to him and he nods, completely silent as he holds his torch to the ground and begins to look. A strange feeling of comradeship fills me as we work side by side. I push it away. I can never be friends with Marvel because he would have no problems killing me. Maybe in a different life . . . but no. There is no different life, only this one. In this one, he's here to kill me. There's no way around it.

We both pause as the anthem begins, watching the sky for any pictures of tributes. It's blank. Marvel looks at me, and I can see he's uneasy.

"Think they'll send something to hurry us along?" he asks, referring to the Gamemakers.

I think about it for a moment. They could, but right now it's still a game to them. With Katniss' cheery sarcasm and the Careers falling from tree branches, the audience is probably enjoying every second of our misery.

"No," I say. "But if nothing happens by tomorrow..."

I meet his eyes and he nods. I can hear Cato and Clove arguing in the distance, but instead of turning back to them, Marvel continues to search the ground with me.

We've been working in silence for almost an hour now, well into the night, before he speaks again.

"Do you love her?" he asks.

"No," I reply automatically, but it's too fast and abrupt. My senses are on high alert.

He looks at me strangely and it all comes back to me. I was going to help them find Katniss, and then they were going to kill me. We look at each other, and I know understanding passes through his eyes. Fear grips me, goosebumps raising on the back of my neck and arms. Did the Careers send him here, knowing I trust him the most, only to kill me?

"I think you should run," he says. "Cato will kill you when he finds out."

I want to. Every molecule in my body is screaming to drop my torch and disappear into the forest, but I can't leave Katniss. I'm the only one who can help her.

"Katniss . . .," I whisper.

I can see he doesn't understand, but by the furrowing of his eyebrows, he wants to. His face looks ominous in the flickering torch light. We stare at each other. My heart is racing, my breath coming in short pants. If he's going to kill me, he might as well do it now.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," he finally says.

He leaves and walks to the Careers without even glancing back. After a moment, I follow. Instinct makes me look up and see if Katniss is okay, but all I see is a lump of black in the tree. I hope she's not asleep.

I turn to Glimmer, who is standing watch.

"Want me to take over?" I ask.

"No."

Well, then.

I settle on the ground, staring up at the sky. I need a plan by morning, which is only a few hours away, but nothing will come. My mind is racing, but my body is groggy from all the running and stress the past few hours. I struggle against sleep, but it eventually takes me.

I wake up to chaos.

The first sound I hear is sawing, back and forth across the wood. I look up panicked, thinking it's Cato, but he's asleep on the ground next to me. In fact, all the Careers are asleep. So that means...

There's a loud crash above my head, then another, then another. I look up to see a huge branch barreling down towards me. It barely has time to register in my mind before it smashes against the ground, and hundreds of bees swarm out.

Wait. Not bees.

Tracker jackers.

I drop everything and run. Leave my knife, my supplies, my water. None of it matters. Three or four of those stings and I'll be dead. And, like their name, they'll track me until they die.

One stings my neck, in the soft spot behind my ear, before I'm out of the clearing. It feels like I've been stabbed with a knife and it momentarily disorients me. The pain increases every second, becoming unbearable, but I force myself to keep running. Within an hour I'll begin to hallucinate, unable to run, and then I'll die as they catch up to me.

I weave my way through the forest, going as fast as I can, hoping to confuse them. I hear the screaming behind me but ignore it. I know some of the Careers have probably been stung multiple times. Maybe a few others are dead. The thought forms in my mind before I can stop it: I hope Marvel isn't one of them.

I hear Cato yelling that everyone should go to the lake, but I veer off. Shallow water won't stop a swarm of angry tracker jackers, and he's just leading them all to the same place. I try to get as far away from there as I can, but I'm slowing down now, my short burst of energy gone. Another stings me, and another. And another. They die after the sting, their bodies twitching on the ground.

I sit down, feeling woozy and disoriented. The world is spinning, and I know I can't keep running. If they find me, it means they've been tracking me since the beginning. No matter where I run, they'll keep tracking me until one of us is dead. So what's the point?

But none come. I hear screaming in the forest, probably near the lake, but otherwise it's silent. No buzzing to be heard. Then one cannon fires, another a second later. Two dead. I wonder which Careers they were.

I take a look at my surroundings. I'm still in the forest, but I don't know where. I force my vision to clear, standing as quickly as I can before I run back through the forest towards the lake. It's then I bump into Cato.

He's stung under his left eye, the wound already swollen to the size of an apple. He grabs my arm and shoves me in the opposite direction.

"Don't go to the lake," he says. That's all the warning I need.

But then he's running in the direction of the tracker jacker nest, and that I don't understand.

"We can't go back!" I say.

He turns to look at me, but he has no face. It's just a black hole. Hallucination, I remind myself. It's just a hallucination.

"Glimmer is back there," he says.

"There was a cannon," I say. "She's dead."

"No," he says, "Not her. District Four and your Slum girl."

My slum girl? Who's that? But I'm glad District Four is dead. She was irritating. I keep staring at him, my thoughts hazy.

"We have to go back," he says.

We have to. Like it's just that simple. They're totally fine with killing each other, but if the Games get involved they're a solid team, protecting one another. I run through the forest with him, the world still slanting. Fear creeps into my chest that it'll slant so far I'll slide off the world into eternal darkness. My stings are beginning to ooze. I can feel it trickling down my neck as the one on my ear bursts. I know time is short before the hallucinations take me.

Why did she do it? Why didn't she give me any warning?

Then I realize who Cato is talking about. Slum girl. Katniss. She was in the tree, also. She was the one who cut the branch down, in near proximity to the nest the entire time. She could be dead, the cannon signaling that. She could be dying, and Cato is running her way. I pick up my pace, racing ahead of him. If I get there before he does, I can save her. If not, I can say goodbye. I grab a spear off the ground as I run, crashing my way through the forest.

I'm right. There she is. She's sitting on the ground next to Glimmer's swollen body. And she's alive. The relief only lasts a second. She's glassy eyed, staring at me like she doesn't know who I am. She looks terrible, her hair black and knotted and her skin bright red and peeling. She's covered in dirt. But it's the first time I've been this close to her in days and I want to wrap my arms around her and never let go.

Suddenly, I hear buzzing all around us. It drowns my hearing in noise. It's coming from somewhere behind me, and it's gaining ground quickly. The tracker jackers are returning. Katniss isn't moving.

"What are you still doing here?" I hiss at her.

She says nothing, staring at me. Her head tilts to the side like she's studying me, but her eyes aren't focusing. What is wrong with her? Can't she hear the buzzing? It's so loud.

"Are you mad?" I ask her. Still, nothing. I jab her hard with the shaft of the spear I'm holding. "Get up! Get up!"

Finally, she stands. She's holding Glimmer's bow and arrows tightly in her hand, and I know she'll be okay. I push her in the opposite direction, but in the corner of my eye I can see the bees returning, a giant black swarm. They're coming straight for me.

"Run!" I scream at her. "Run!"

She takes off just as they surround me. All I can hear is buzzing. All I can see is tracker jackers. They bite me and sting me and crawl all over me. I realize I'm screaming, but I don't care. It has to stop. It has to stop.

I need to get away from the nest.

A hand roughly grabs me and pulls me upward. The tracker jackers fly away and I realize it was just a hallucination. I gulp air and try to clear my mind. Soon the hallucinations will become more and more frequent until I can't separate them. I need to put them off, just for a little longer. I take another deep breath.

Then I'm staring into Cato's black eyes.

"Well, Lover Boy," he says. He kneels down next to me. The swelling by his eye is huge and I wonder if he's hallucinating, too. Stings on the face always speed up the process. "I guess the title is true after all."

I try to speak, but my mouth is instantly dry. I swallow and try again.

"What are you talking about?" I whisper.

He laughs. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I saw you with Katniss. You saved her life."

I can hear Marvel's voice in my head. _You can't say I didn't warn you._ Because he did. He told me to run, and I went back to save Katniss. Now she's okay and I'm about to die.

"So, what have you told her?" Cato continues.

I swallow again. "What?"

I don't expect the fist to come flying at me. My neck snaps back as I receive the blow and pain shoots across my face.

"Don't you fucking play dumb!" he yells. "Did you tell her about the mines? Have you been sneaking her food? Come on, what is it?"

"None of the above," I whisper. Another fist slams into my face.

I see Cato pull out his sword. It gleams in the sunlight and diamonds fly off of it - another hallucination. I know this is it; the moment I die. Am I still the person I was in District Twelve? I guess so. I saved Katniss from this same fate, so I did something good before I die. But I've also killed innocent people in these Games, and their faces flash before my eyes as I watch Cato smile at me. Maybe I deserve to die for what I've done. But does Cato deserve to live?

Without a word he slashes at my thigh. The pain is instant, blood gushing through my pant legs and running onto the forest floor. I scream and grab at my leg, trying to stop the bleeding, but it flows in a steady stream between my fingers. He stands and places a small knife a few feet away from me.

"I'll just leave this here," he says. "It'll be more poetic if you kill yourself."

He stumbles away. He's starting to feel the effect of the stings. He must be, otherwise he would have killed me.

The blood on my leg turns into tiny red snakes, biting at my fresh wound.

I scream until I fall into darkness.

* * *

**A/N: To all those wondering, Gale's point of view only comes back for the Epilogue of the story. I really did try to write the entire 50,000 words in his perspective, but I found it was becoming too repetitive. I'm really sorry if I made it sound like the entire story would be Gale's POV - I didn't mean to deceive/trick any of you!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve of Thirteen*: **(see note at bottom)

The next few hours are the worst of my life. The tracker jacker poison takes over my mind and everything I've feared the most vividly plays across my eyelids. Things that have already happened, the worst memories of my life, as well as things that I wish will never happen. Everything I hate, everything I fear and everything I never want to think about is revealed to me in the span of a few hours. It's agony.

My mother spits cold accusations at me before hitting me hard across the face. Sometimes she rips out my hair. Sometimes she holds my face close to the burning oven. I whimper in fear.

"I've never loved you," she screams. "You're just a useless mouth to feed!"

She throws me in the fire. My father does nothing, his eyes watching Katniss's smiling face on the television.

The scene changes. Now I'm in the Games, engulfed by the same flames from the oven. I scream in agony, but no one hears me. The further away I run the hotter it becomes, and I can't find a way out. I shrivel into ash and become nothing.

I watch Katniss die, and often times I'm the one who kills her.

Over and over these images fill my brain and I roll around the forest floor, barely aware of my surroundings. Once, when I wake up for a small moment, I try to drag myself across the forest floor, but then snakes crawl up my legs and wrap around my mouth and I'm pulled back into the nightmare.

When I finally come back to reality I'm by the river. I'm not sure how I got here. I must have crawled to it while the hallucinations were occurring, wanting to put out the flames. The sun is still bright in the sky, but I don't know what day it is. I could have been unconscious for days, hours, or merely a few minutes. It doesn't matter, anyway. I long ago lost track of the days.

The tracker jacker stings feel like they're on fire and there's an awful, bitter taste in my mouth. I move to get some water from the stream. I don't have iodine, and I have no idea if the water is safe. I don't care anymore.

I thirstily drink from the stream, but the cold water makes the taste even worse. I quickly search the area surrounding me, but there's only a knife. No backpack. No food. Now I'm truly on my own in the wilderness.

My mind is hazy from pain, but I know that I can't focus on my injuries. I need to get out of here. The bleeding from my leg has slowed, but I'm guessing I left an obvious blood trail trying to get here. I wade into the river, wincing at the cold water. Slowly, I make my way upstream. I need to get far, far away from the Cornucopia.

I'm not sure how long I walk for. Hours, definitely, but I'm taking such small steps it's possible I've only gone half a mile. My clothes cling to my body and I know by nighttime I'll be freezing. I push the thought away. I can't think about that now. I have to take this one step at a time.

When I'm sure I'm far enough away, I drag myself onto a small bank. I've never been this far in the forest before. The stream is lined with large boulders, giving me adequate shelter from the wind. I grasp them to propel myself forward, but my hands are bloody, my entire body is bloody, and I leave a red handprint on the rock. I try to wipe it away, but it's not worth it. It doesn't matter. I keep pulling myself through the rocks until I have to stop.

I lie down in the mud when I can't go any farther. I'm breathing hard from the exertion but I know I can't rest: I have to fix my injuries before infection sets in. I pull down my pants to examine the wound Cato gave me, and I nearly faint when I see it.

The wound is gaping and the flesh is severed nearly to the bone. Clumps of dried blood surround it, almost black in colour, but it's the skin that worries me. My entire thigh is a strange whitish-gray. The pain is suddenly ten times worse than it was before, and I wish I had never looked. I know then I'm dealing with something I just can't fix. I look up at the sky.

"Haymitch," I whisper, but my voice is hoarse. "Haymitch, I really need your help right now, man. I know you don't like me. I know. But I need to fix this."

I wait. Nothing happens. I'm not surprised.

I gently pour water on it, but it only makes it worse. The clumps of dried blood float away and new, fresh blood rises to the surface. Somehow, the clotting makes it seem better than it is, so I leave it. I move on to the next injury. One step at a time.

There's nothing I can do with tracker jacker stings. They've turned into hard lumps on my body, yellow and pink and oozing a grayish liquid. I wash them out with water, but it's only short-term relief. I know it won't help the infection. I remember Katniss' mother had an herb that drew out the pain, but I don't have the strength to look for it.

The burns on my chest and hands aren't doing any better. My body can't heal them and my immunity is too low. I put the pieces together, a puzzle in my mind: four infected stings, one blistering burn, an inch deep gash on my leg, soon to be infected, and multiple bruises, cuts and small burns.

I'm not going to make it out of these Games.

I look to the knife. I could end it right now and take all the pain away. One easy slice and a cannon shot to signal it. But it's just a thought in my mind, nothing I could ever execute. I can't bring myself to do it, even if it's the logical thing to do. I know I'm going to die. I know it's going to be a slow, agonizing death, but I can't do it.

I still have hope, and I hate myself for it.

I pull the knife against my chest with my right arm, making lazy circles in the mud with my left. _It's not so bad here_, I think. It's something I never would have seen in District Twelve, at the very least. I'm actually in a forest. I'm smelling dirt, leaves and a distinct smell, something I can't place. It's this smell that makes a forest so unique. The birds are singing, there's a slight breeze and I feel . . . comfortable.

Really, it's not a bad place to die, if you exclude the tributes sent here to kill me.

Now that I've accepted my fate, my entire body relaxes against the bank. The stress and fear of the past few days just fades away as I lie there, and I'm overcome by a feeling of peace. I want to die on my own, in my own way, by myself. I don't want to be part of the Hunger Games anymore. I just want to disappear.

My eyes open when I realize that I can. I can hide. I can disappear.

I drag myself toward the forest again. It's about five feet, but it takes me almost an hour. Any movement of my body results in pure agony that makes me gasp for breath. I carefully select my leaves and twigs from nearby trees, matching them in my mind to the leaves already on the bank. Then I drag myself back.

During the next few hours I put my best skill to use. With my hands I dig a shallow pit, just deep enough that when I lie in it, I'm the same level as the ground around me. I settle into the hole and begin to pack mud around my legs. When I reach my thighs, the dirt makes my wound throb, but I ignore it. There's nothing I can do. I clench my teeth and pretend the whimpers aren't mine.

I stop at my thighs and use the mud I dug out to cover my arms, my chest and my face. I throw clumps of it in my hair. This process alone takes another few hours, and by now it's dark, but it has to be just right. I throw a few leaves casually across my body, giving them the appearance of being scattered by the wind.

I rest then, deciding I'll finish tomorrow. The air has turned cold, as I knew it would, and I shiver in the dark. The cold mud seeps into my clothing and all I can do is float in and out of consciousness. Of course, I dream of Katniss.

_We're back in District Twelve, and we've won the Games. I know this because we're in a house. A nice house, like Haymitch lives in. It has a full kitchen and a bathroom with a shower and many floors, more than we know what to do with. We live there together._

_I walked into the kitchen. She's sitting at the table, her hair in her usual braid, her feet bare. She looks up from her book and smiles at me._

_"Hi, love," she says. I laugh at her._

_"Love?" I ask. "Who are you and what did you do with Katniss?"_

_She glares at me, her typical Katniss glare, like she's deciding whether to kill me. I love her so much._

_"Just trying it out," she says. "Forget it."_

_"No, I like it," I say. And I mean it._

_I lean down to kiss her. Just a soft peck on the lips, but even that makes my heart stutter. I feel her hot breath on my mouth as she pulls away, and I drag her back for another. She chuckles._

_"Can't get enough of me?" she whispers against my mouth._

_"Never," I say. It's true._

_"Come on," she says. "I want to show you something."_

_She stands up and takes my hand in hers, so soft and warm, and drags me out the door. We're in the forest. This forest, in the Hunger Games. I look around in confusion._

_"What are we doing here?" I ask her. She smiles at me._

_"Shh, it's okay. We're safe now," she says._

_She pulls me deeper and deeper into the forest until we're at the spot where I lay dying. The bank by the river surrounded by giant boulders. She grins at me and pushes me down onto the muddy bank._

_Her lips meet mine without a word, but it's not new. It's comfortable, like we've done this many times before. I pull away to kiss her forehead and the tip of her nose, and she giggles, rolling her eyes at me. I laugh back. I've never felt so happy. I have her. She's mine, and we have all the time in the world._

_She lies on the bank next to me and her fingers find mine. Our hands entwine, and hear the clink of our wedding bands as her grip on me tightens._

_She turns to look at me, just tilting her head to the side, and I follow her movements. Her gray eyes stare into mine._

_"Do you want this, Peeta?" she asks._

_"Of course I do!" I exclaim. How could she ever think I didn't?_

_"Then you need to wake up," she says._

_I stare at her. I don't understand. Wake up? Why would I want to wake up when I'm here with her?_

_She releases my hand, pushing herself up. I try to follow her, but I'm stuck in the mud. She bends down over me._

_"I love you, Peeta," she says. My heart nearly stops._

_"I love you, too. I love you so much," I say._

_She smiles down at me. "I know," she says. "So you need to wake up for me. Right now."_

_Then she's crashing through the forest, the footsteps too loud for her small frame._

I jolt awake as heavy footsteps barrel toward me. For a moment, still half in the dream, I think they're Katniss, but they're too loud and too heavy to ever be her. She moves through the forest like a ghost.

I lie flat against the bank, slowly reaching down to grasp my knife. By the deep breathing, I can tell it's a man. It's Cato. It has to be Cato, coming back to finish me off. But now I have the advantage. In the dark, there's no way he can see me. He just has to come close enough.

I hear him drinking from the stream heavily, gulping down water and splashing it on his face. If I tilt my head up just slightly, I can see his frame bent over the water, only a few feet away. He needs to come only a bit closer. Just the slightest amount.

And he does. I see the shadow turn in my direction, but his eyes aren't on me. The moonlight reflects off of them, and I can see they're fixed on something behind me. He stands and begins to walk my way, but he's limping badly. He's too small and thin to be Cato. It's someone else. Another tribute, hiding in the forest.

This is my last chance to help Katniss.

When he's a foot away, I sit up quickly, grabbing his bad leg. He yells in fright, trying to jerk away, but even weak I'm stronger than he is. I slam my knife into his chest. Pull it out. Stab again at his leg. The boy jerks hard and pulls out of my grasp, the knife still embedded in his leg. He runs through the forest. I hear his painful sobs as they get further and further away. I lay back down. Cover myself in leaves. Close my eyes.

A few minutes later I hear a cannon fire.

Whoever he was, he's gone.

I have nothing left. Nothing to defend myself with, nothing to eat. It's only a matter of time, now.

I look up at the sky.

"It's your turn, Haymitch," I say to him. "Your turn to protect her. There's nothing else I can do."

I close my eyes again and lie still.

* * *

I drift in and out of dreams. I like dreams. They're better than any reality I've ever known. I'm not in pain or lying in the mud, waiting to die. Often Katniss is with me, holding my hand. I'm safe. Whenever I wake up, her name is on my lips and I want to go back.

I wake once to a loud blast somewhere in the forest. It's so heavy the ground around me trembles. At first I think it's the Gamemakers, playing another trick, but that night, when I see the boy from District Three in the sky, and I know it was the mines exploding. Whatever happened, only he died.

I laugh.

Marvel's face appears in the sky shortly after. I wonder how he died. If Katniss wasn't in these Games, I would have wanted him to win. He deserved it. He was nice to me. I mentally touch my fingers to my lips and raise them out, saying goodbye to his face.

I wonder how long I have left.

When the next cannon fires, I think it's for me. It's not. It's for the girl, Rue. That's too bad. I wait for mine.

I'm not hungry or thirsty. That should bother me, but it doesn't. I loll my head back and forth in the mud, getting comfortable. Preparing for death.

I pass the time thinking of the remaining tributes. Thresh and the girl from District Five I haven't seen since the first day. Katniss is doing okay. At least her face hasn't been in the sky. Cato and Clove are probably having sex on the Cornucopia. I giggle at the thought.

I know I'm losing grip on reality. I know it and I just don't care.

The next day is quiet. I wait for the death toll, seeing if I'm on it. Seeing if Katniss is on it. But instead trumpets play.

I open my eyes wider. Trumpets? Why are trumpets playing? Is it over? Am I so good at hiding they think I'm dead? What if I am dead? Too easy. Death can't be that easy.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms through the sky.

"Panem congratulates the six remaining tributes!" he cries out.

I smile. "Thank you, Panem, for all your wonderful help!" I cry out.

"Now listen to me very carefully," Claudius continues.

"Okay," I say.

"A new rule has been added to the Hunger Games. It might help you and it might hurt you."

I pause, trying to understand. A new rule? There's never been a new rule.

"Effective immediately, tributes from the same District will be declared winners if they are the last two standing." He pauses. I don't understand.

He repeats it again, slower. "That means, there can be two winners of the Games this year, but only if they're from the same District. So team up, Districts! And Happy Games!"

The announcement speaker crackles and turns off. I roll it over in my mind. Two winners? From the same District? Katniss and I are from the same District. . .

We both can win?

I laugh in the mud. I laugh and laugh until my sides hurt.

Because I know.

My love changed the rules. Katniss and I changed the Game.

Just like Haymitch said I would.

* * *

I don't sleep the rest of the night, waiting for her. She's a tracker. She'll find me. I know she will. Maybe when she finally finds me she'll kill me when she sees how useless I am.

At least I'll get to see her face.

It doesn't take her long. The sun is just warming the mud when I hear the quiet splashing of feet in water.

"Peeta?" she whispers.

She comes into view. She's beautiful. Much cleaner than she was when I last saw her. She clutches her bow in her hand, and I know she's here to kill me, just like the tracker jackers. Her eyes pass over mine, her face cautious, but she doesn't see me. I nearly laugh at my disguise. But now she's turning away, and that can't happen.

"Here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I say. I'm amused. The whole thing is amusing.

Her head whips around, searching the ground, but she still doesn't see me.

"Peeta?" she whispers, like she can't believe it. "Where are you? Peeta?"

I close my eyes, just listening to her voice. She sounds so good. Her footsteps get closer and closer, nearly on top of me, and I laugh.

"Well, don't step on me," I say.

Her eyes meet mine and she jumps back in surprise. She's studies my disguise with a smile barely touching her lips.

"Close your eyes again," she says.

I do. I wait for one of her arrows to go soaring into my chest. But nothing happens.

"I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off," she says instead.

I know then she's not going to kill me. Her eyes show nothing but kindness as she bends on her knees, smiling that full smile. She puts down her bow and touches my arm. I know I'm safe. I know I'm home. Because no matter what happens now, Katniss is here with me, smiling and joking with me, just like in my dreams. She'll take the pain away and make everything better, like she always does. And I know I'll be okay.

She found me.

I love her.

And we'll make it.

* * *

**A/N: There's still one more chapter! The Epilogue (basically a full chapter and not really an epilogue . . .) will be uploaded in the next few days, most likely Friday. I'm in the middle of exams, and I have yet to edit it. Thanks for all your comments - I really appreciate them!**


	13. Epilogue

**PART THREE: GALE**

**Chapter Thirteen of Thirteen**

There's a rustle in the forest.

I press myself against the tree, closing my eyes and allowing my other senses to take over. The rustle comes again. It's on my right, maybe four or five meters from me. It's eating.

Perfect.

I jump out from behind the tree, my arrow already flying through the air, but my aim isn't what Katniss' is. I hit the deer at the base of its neck - hardly the killer blow. It gives a startled cry and charges through the forest, trampling through the fallen leaves.

Goddamnit. I can't leave it like that.

I race after it, throwing myself through the forest as fast as I can go. A low lying branch hits me in the face, and I can feel blood rising to the surface of my cheek. The pain in my legs is a burn that slowly builds to the point where it's almost unbearable. It's all oddly cathartic. I want to feel the pain. I need it.

It's easy to follow the injured animal, as its made an obvious trail through the forest, the occasional smear of blood leading me when I stray. Thirty minutes later, I find it drinking by the stream. Two more shots from my bow and the deed is done.

I walk over and pull the arrows out, inspecting the damage. It's not too bad. I'll just wash away the blood and hope I can still get a good price for it.

There's another sound from down the stream, much more heavier than the deer. Instead of raising my bow, I tense, ready to run. If it's a cat, or a bear, there's not much else I can do. The sound comes closer and closer, finally turning around the bend, and Rory walks out from the forest. I relax. He looks down at the deer.

"Gale, no one will buy that," he says.

I sling my bow over my arm, looking down at the deer. "It's fine," I say. "We'll wash the blood off and no one will tell."

"It looks like Emmental cheese."

I roll my eyes at him. "Would you like to try?"

He lifts his hands, palms facing me. "Hey, now, I'm just stating the facts," he says.

Rory, despite spending most days in the forest with me, is still a terrible hunter. I can't even hunt with him around; he's so loud he scares off the animals. I've put him on permanent fish and snare duty. You can't scare away animals that have already been trapped.

He helps me clean off the deer and drag it back the way we came. The process takes almost an hour, and by the time we reach the fence, we're both out of breath and exhausted. We take a break before walking to the Hob, sitting just out of sight in the forest.

"How are you?" Rory asks softly.

I look away. I've been a horrible brother as of late. I've spent my days sleeping at the Everdeen's, watching the Hunger Games every day, feeling utterly helpless every minute. I send food to my family when I hunt, but I've had little contact with them. They understand, but I know it must be hard. Rory wakes at sunrise just to spend time with me.

"I'm okay," I finally say, but we both know I'm lying.

I've never been more stressed in my entire life. When she was dying of thirst, I didn't drink, either. When she had nothing to eat, neither did I, watching her every minute of every day. I felt like crying when a rabbit jumped past her, as she had no bow to use.

When the wall of fire bore down on Katniss, I nearly ripped my hair out wanting to save her. When she was badly burned and no parachute came, I uttered profanities about how I would kill Haymitch when he returned. At night I cried, thinking of her singed hair and badly burned face, wanting her to come home so I could protect her.

I'm losing my mind. Every day she's closer to death. Now there's only six left. The Seam should be elated: our District hasn't been so close to winning since Haymitch. But it isn't. Now people have chosen sides.

After the fire, tension grew in the Seam. It became Team Peeta versus Team Katniss. The Town versus the Seam. When Katniss dropped the tracker jacker nest on Peeta, it became war. The Mellarks had come running into the Everdeens' house screaming, as though it was our fault. As if he didn't join the Careers. As if he never supported her, and Katniss was in the wrong.

He deserved it.

But at the same time, he tried to save her.

Sometimes I think he truly wanted to help Katniss, but other times, it was as though he made the love story up to gain attention. I don't know how I feel about Peeta.

It's not like Katniss didn't suffer, either. She spent hours rolling around on the forest floor, just like Peeta was, lost in hallucinations. Mrs. Everdeen had cried then, for the first time since the Games began, watching her daughter in pain. I had left after an hour to hunt. I couldn't deal with it, watching her and knowing I could do nothing. I want to be in the Games, not just to protect her, but as a distraction. Anything would be better than sitting, watching and being unable to help.

Rue was a cute little girl, but her death was inevitable. The moment she was caught in the traps, we all knew. Prim had left for a walk that day, not returning until long after Rue's death. District Twelve watched in silence as Katniss sang her to sleep: her voice was beautiful, as always. She had begun to do something - place flowers around Rue, I think - when the camera had panned away to District Two's tributes. I'll never know what she did, but her altruism showed Panem she would not become a monster, and that's what mattered most.

Now Peeta is hiding in the forest, dying. The camera zooms to him from time to time, but there isn't much to see. He's not an interesting death. He's blended himself into the mud (Which, I will grudgingly admit, is ingenious) and has begun to hallucinate, laughing at nothing and randomly smiling. Occasionally he mutters Katniss' name, and the commentators just lap that up.

I feel sorry for the Mellarks, but it just means Katniss is one step closer to winning.

"Come on," I say. I stand and pull Rory up with me. "Let's sell this before it gets dark."

We're only just through the fence when Prim is running toward us, full speed and tripping over her long dress. The Mellarks aren't far behind. My heart completely stops beating. I'm sure of it. It becomes lead in my chest. My entire body is frozen.

"What?" I say, but I can't manage any louder than a whisper. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead.

"There's been a change in the Rules!" Prim cries.

She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. It's the only reason the Mellarks would look so happy. Those bastards. I'll kill them. I'll kill the whole damn Capitol. She's dead. She's dead.

"What change?" Rory asks, sounding suspicious.

Prim is crying, but she's also smiling. "Peeta and Katniss can both win! They can both win, together."

Rory gasps, throwing himself into the conversation. I don't listen to the actual rule change. My mind is rapidly working, trying to process the news. I listen to Prim repeat it again. They can both win. They can work together. Now Katniss has a partner. She has a partner. She can survive. There's more of a chance that she'll make it. I let this sink into my body, trying to relax, but instead my heart begins to beat faster with adrenaline.

Now she'll win.

If I had been chosen, we could have won, together. I used to be the only one to have that bond with her, a life or death, living on the edge link. Now she has it with Peeta, and I know those bonds do not break.

I don't want to share.

* * *

It doesn't take her long to find him. All of Panem watches the screens as she cleans him off and examines his wounds. Peeta is worse than I realized. While lying in the mud, his leg has swollen to twice its size. He's a strange shade of gray from head to toe, covered in infections and burns. I glance at Mrs. Everdeen.

"How bad?" I whisper to her.

She leans closer to me. "Really bad," she whispers back. "Beyond what I can do."

Katniss fumbles with herbal remedies, trying to figure out what to do. The Gamemakers and cameras give it a comedic tone, but there's nothing funny about Peeta's slow death. We all know medicine is too expensive for Haymitch to send at this stage of the Games. Still, we reassure the Mellarks that it'll happen and Peeta will be okay. There's nothing else we can do.

* * *

The first time she kisses him, I don't mind. I feel my family's and the Everdeen's eyes staring at me, but I know Katniss did it to quiet him. To placate him. When Haymitch sends broth, it confirms my suspicions. Vick looks triumphant as he stands next to me.

"I told you it was a ruse," he says proudly.

I laugh when Katniss turns into Mrs. Perfect Wife, coaxing Peeta to drink the broth spoonful by spoonful. Her voice is a strange, airy pitch, like people of the Capitol, as if she doesn't have a brain. They probably believe it's actually her. She kisses him over and over, but it's only small pecks. Peeta stares at her with a gushy expression on his face, and I want to laugh at his foolishness. _As if_, I think. _As if you have a chance against me._

_

* * *

_

But as the days progress, his dreams really do come true.

And mine fall apart.

They sleep together, in the same sleeping bag. They kiss, they whisper, they talk about their feelings. Despite the act, she's falling for him. I can see it grow more and more each day. Prim tries to pass it off as an act, supported by Vick, but even now I can hear the hesitation in her voice. She knows, too.

The only hope I have left is when she tells the story of Prim's goat. Her voice holds a true tone of love in it, a secret smile on her face when she says she sold a locket. Only she and I know the story of how she got that money. It's our secret only. It's something Panem, and Peeta, will never know about. It's something that will always connect us, and I know part of the love in her voice is meant for me. I just know it.

It's the only thing that stops my heart from disintegrating in my chest, crumbling into ash and becoming nothing. _The kisses aren't real_, I tell myself over and over, the repetition making it into a jingle in my mind. _It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't. It isn't. It isn't._

Mrs Everdeen can see my heart is breaking.

"I know what love is," she says. "And I know that every move Katniss makes is thought through. Love isn't methodical, it's spontaneous. See there, when she almost left the cave and then turned back to Peeta? You don't forget to kiss your loved one goodbye."

I hunt down these moments she can see so easily, searching for any sign that Katniss is thinking of me. But as she and Peeta spend more days in the cave, I'm losing the signs. They aren't there anymore. Katniss spends more time talking to Peeta and less time lost in thought. I can't imagine she's thinking of me.

Why would she? Now she has Peeta.

I cannot bring myself to stop watching, even though every moment is torturous. I owe it to Katniss to watch every second of her in action. So day after day I come home from selling in the Hob and sit in front of the small television. Prim joins me when school is over, and we watch silently, together.

Day after day after day.

* * *

The final blow comes on the weekend.

On Saturday, we avoid the square, watching from the Everdeen's television. I sit on the rickety chair in the kitchen, my chin resting on my fists as I watch Katniss and Peeta together in their cave, as always. I'm surprised the Gamemakers haven't sent something to hurry this along. I don't want to see this. Why does the Capitol think a false romance is interesting? Because it's not. It's boring and awful.

At least Katniss is looking better. The wound on her head has finally stopped bleeding, but the stain of blood is still all over the cave: on the floor, on her clothes, on the walls. Every time I see the amount of blood I want to faint, wondering how she's still alive. Mrs. Everdeen says head wounds bleed a lot, and if she's walking and talking by now, she's going to be okay. I think that's supposed to be comforting, but it isn't.

The camera doesn't focus on Katniss and Peeta for long. It's pouring in the Games, the heavy rain flooding the plains and trying to drive Thresh out of his field into Cato's waiting trap. The audience wants to see a fight, but Thresh is holding on. My guess is he's use to battling storms like this.

"Come on, buddy. Hang on," Rory whispers under his breath.

Thresh is gripping the long strands of grass, refusing to budge. By the look of Cato, he's cold and tired and will soon call it a night. Thresh only has to hold on a little longer. It's easy to root for him, as District Eleven isn't all that different from our own. No one wants a Career to win.

The camera abruptly flashes back to Peeta and Katniss in the cave, the small house eerily quiet now that the rain has stopped on the television. I jerk forward and Mrs. Everdeen gasps. My heart is pounding in my throat. If they're missing a potential fight for this, something big is going to happen. An ambush?

Peeta is yelling at Katniss on screen, his hand tight on hers. I scramble to keep up.

"No! Just don't, Katniss! Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?"

He sounds really, really pissed. What did we miss? What is she planning to do? My fingernails dig into the wooden table, chills of panic rushing down my spine. Katniss' face is a mask. I don't know what she's thinking.

"Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta," she says angrily. "Did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who. . ."

She stumbles over her words, searching for what she wants to say. I can barely hear her over the pounding of my heart.

"Who worries about. . . what it would be like if . . ."

Suddenly, she looks terrified. I don't know what to do. I don't know what happened. I don't know what's wrong. The camera cut in too late.

"If what, Katniss?" Peeta prompts her. His voice is velvet now, and I can hear a tinge of guilt in it.

She looks away from him. "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," she says.

Peeta brushes her hair away from her bandage. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says.

They kiss.

This time, it's a real one. It's the kiss I always wanted from Katniss. Her eyes are closed, as are his, and it's soft and sweet. His hand is on her neck, holding her still, their bodies nearly touching. When they finally part, their mouths stay open and close together, almost searching for one another. Peeta opens his eyes to look at her, softly licking his lower lip, as if he's tasting her. Katniss' eyes are still closed, but I watch her lean in for another, her mouth trembling as she searches for his.

She liked it.

She wants more of it.

"Oh," whispers Prim.

I stand up and leave the room.

I felt numb the first few kisses. There was nothing there, absolutely no emotion as I watched them together. I want to go back to that. I want to go back to that so badly, because now everything hurts. My heart feels like a snake has wrapped around it, pulling tighter and tighter until it stops beating. Squeezing the life out of me. Maybe even squeezing the love out of me. My chest aches, and every breath sends a shooting pain into my stomach. My entire body quivers uncontrollably.

She's already fallen for him. She won't be thinking of me anymore, because now it's all about Peeta. Peeta is the one who has kissed her and has taken her heart with him. When she returns, it won't be to me. I was foolish enough to hope the Games would change nothing. They've changed everything.

She and Peeta will win. I know they will. She'll win a giant house with Capitol-style food I can't even imagine. She'll leave the Seam and live with Peeta in their fancy white clothes and have her happy ever after. She won't have to hunt anymore: why would she risk it when she has everything she needs? Why would she live with me, be friends me, marry me, when she has everyone she needs?

I hear Prim's voice behind me, but I crawl into the forest before she can catch up. I can't see her face right now. I know she'll lie and tell me Katniss loves me, but I saw it. I watched the television, too. I know what happened. No one can convince me otherwise.

I walk straight to the place Katniss and I meet at. Used to meet at. Will never meet at again. It's dark now, and I can barely see, but I know this place like the back of my hand. I reach into the hollow log and pull out a bow. Her bow. I touch it softly, rubbing my thumb against the cold wood. I grab her arrows, too.

She won't be needing them anymore.

There's no need to hunt when you have everything.

For the first time in weeks, I put the bow to good use.

* * *

I wake up in the forest.

_Idiot_, I think. I can't believe I slept here. Anything could have happened. My clothes are damp from the forest dew, clinging to my body, and I shiver in the morning air as I crawl out from under the rock ledge and begin the walk back to the Seam.

I was hoping to dream of Katniss, like I once did in the forest, but nothing happened. I've even lost her in my dreams. The snake is still there, squeezing rhythmically around my heart with every beat it makes.

My mother is sitting in the kitchen when I walk in. Judging by her face, she hasn't slept.

"Oh, Gale!" she cries, running over to me. She throws her arms around me, pulling my body close to hers. The heat warms my skin and is comforting. She smells like home. I pull her even tighter against me, gripping her back with my hands and burying my face into her neck.

"I'm okay," I murmur, patting her back. "I'm okay."

"Where were you?" she sniffs, searching my face for injury.

"I fell asleep in the forest. But I'm fine," I say, pushing her away.

Her mouth hangs open. "The forest? Anything could have happened. You could have been-"

"I know," I snap. "I'm fine."

I don't need to be reminded of my stupidity.

There's silence in the small kitchen. I look over at the beds, but thankfully my siblings are still asleep. Mother brushes my damp hair off my face.

"You remember what Vick said?" she asks me.

I close my eyes. Pain shoots across my torso.

"I watched the entire thing," I tell her. "It was real."

My voice cracks embarrassingly when I speak, and her voice becomes even softer.

"She barely knows the boy."

"I don't think it matters."

"She knows you're waiting for her."

"I don't think it matters."

My mom grips my face, forcing me to look at her gray eyes.

"Of course it matters," she says. "She loves you. She's in the Games right now and she's scared and wants someone to be with her, but when she comes home and sees you, you'll fall back into your pattern again."

"What if she doesn't come home?" I counter.

"Don't talk like that," she says, her voice angry. "Of course she's coming back."

I firmly grasp her wrists and pull her hands off my face, holding them between us. "Yeah, she's coming back, but she's not coming home. She'll have to do a tour, and then she'll live in a nice house in town. She's not coming back to the Seam. Why would she?"

"Because you're here."

The voice comes from the doorway and I turn, startled. Mrs. Everdeen walks in, closing the door gently behind her. She looks at my mother.

"You found him?" she asks.

"He slept in the forest," my mother says. They both scoff.

Mrs. Everdeen turns to face me. "She will never leave you behind, no matter what happens between her and Peeta. She loves you, Gale, and," she says, cutting me off as I try to protest, "Her home will always be the Seam."

I look away. I don't want these women to see me cry.

"It might be a ruse and it might not be," Mrs. Everdeen continues. "You won't know until she's away from the Games. Give it another chance. She needs you."

I exhale a shaky breath. I don't know if I can watch anymore, but she's right. I promised Katniss. I promised her. She'll be expecting me to watch, no matter what. No matter how much it hurts, I will always support her, even if she doesn't choose me. I love her too much to ever let her go.

I nod stiffly at Mrs. Everdeen, and together we walk back to her house.

"Sorry for making you worry," I mumble just before we reach her house.

She smiles softly and squeezes my arm.

The day drags on uneventfully. Peeta and Katniss are huddled in a sleeping bag, but they're not doing much of anything. The rain is still pouring down, still trying to wash Thresh out of the plains, so the camera doesn't spend much time on them. The Gamemakers want a fight. If they were kissing, I'm sure it would pan back, but it doesn't. In fact, Katniss looks a little uncomfortable, like she doesn't know what to say or do with Peeta. The snake around my heart loosens its grip slightly. Maybe it was an act.

"See?" Prim whispers to me as we watch them. "Maybe they're just friends."

'_Yeah. Friends. Friends who kiss each other_', I think. I smile tightly at her instead. I'm not ready to let my guard down just yet.

We sit at the table eating dinner, a meal of bread and stew, watching Peeta and Katniss shiver together in the sleeping bag. They haven't eaten in hours, and I know they must be starving. I feel guilty for eating in front of them, even if they can't see it.

Katniss looks at Peeta for a long time, but says nothing. I see the wheels are turning in her mind, wondering how to start a conversation with him.

"Peeta," she finally says. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"

I close my eyes as the snake tightens its hold again.

"Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair . . . it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," he says.

"I made that dress," Mrs. Everdeen says proudly. "It looked beautiful on her."

I wish I could remember Katniss at age five, but we weren't even in the same grade. I have virtually no memories of her before the medal ceremony. Peeta knows more about her childhood then I do. I clench my jaw.

"Your father?" Katniss asks. "Why?"

"He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says.

Mrs. Everdeen drops her spoon. Prim and I stare at her as she gawks at the television. A steady flush is creeping up her neck and her eyes keep flitting to the door, like she's waiting for Mrs. Mellark to come bursting through screaming at her. The entire house is silent. Katniss and Peeta are talking about some singing competition, but no one is listening.

"Mom," Prim starts, but Mrs. Everdeen interrupts her.

"It was a long time ago," she says. "And I don't want to discuss it."

Prim and I watch as she gathers her bowl, puts it in the sink, and walks out of the house. We hear the sound of a broom brushing against the concrete a minute later.

"That was . . . weird," Prim says.

"Definitely," I answer.

I want to know what happened between Mrs. Everdeen and Mr. Mellark, but I don't have time to think about it right now. I catch Katniss' face on screen and immediately wonder what I missed. Katniss and Peeta have gone silent, Katniss staring at him with a strange expression on her face. She looks confused. What did he say?

"You have a remarkable memory," Katniss says slowly.

"I remember everything about you," Peeta says. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. I want to break his arm. I can deal with them being in a sleeping bag together, sharing heat. It's survival. Talking is fine, too. But brushing hair back off her face is not survival.

"I am, now," Katniss says.

The snake squeezes around my heart tighter. It's hard to breathe.

"Well, I don't have much competition here," Peeta says.

He pauses, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. I know he's thinking of me, and I lean forward. Did Katniss speak about me before the Games? She pauses. My heart speeds up. Is she going to reject him? Will she tell him that I'm at home, waiting for her to return to me? She must know I'm watching, now. She has to. Whatever she says -

"You don't have much competition anywhere," she says.

The final blow.

The snake's grip tightens, and my weak heart finally dies.

* * *

**Epilogue**

**_"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."_**

A few hours ago I was trembling in fear as the mutts attacked her, vomiting in the pail outside of the Everdeen's house.

An hour ago I was holding Prim against me, covering her ears to drown out the horrible screams of Cato as the mutts ate him alive. I covered her eyes when they showed what was left of his body. When Prim tried to look, Rory wrapped his arms around her as well, obscuring her vision completely.

Ten minutes ago I was listening to the screams of delight in the square when they believed District Twelve had won. I held my breath. Somehow, I knew.

Five minutes ago I was hugging Rory tightly, tears of relief streaming down my face when I finally let myself believe they had won.

But now, at this second, I have never felt this kind of anger. My complaining about the Capitol was nothing compared to what I feel now. Somehow, I'm going to kill them. They won't survive this. I won't let them.

My fists clench tightly together.

After everything that has happened, after everything Katniss and Peeta have been through, it's all about marketing. It's all about the Capitol wanting to see a show, because they're monsters. To them, death is fun. Death is pink and blue hair and wearing your best clothes in a casket painted gold. It's a time to get together and pretend to mourn, but secretly gossip about the goings on around town.

To watch two teenagers die, two star crossed lovers who have fought valiantly side by side? And to watch them kill each other? Well, that would just be icing on the cake. The talk of the whole damn town. Because who cares about two kids from the poorest District? They don't have lives. They don't have families. They're _poor_.

I can't believe a few days ago I was moaning over the fact Katniss might choose Peeta. I have never felt so immature in my life. Because that? That was nothing. That was absolutely nothing compared to what is happening now.

This time I'm trembling with rage instead of sorrow.

Katniss and Peeta each hold a small amount nightlock in their hands, and I know her plan. I just don't know if it'll work. My breathing is rapid. My lungs can't get enough oxygen. It has to work. It has to. It has to.

"No," sobs Mrs. Everdeen. "No. No. No. No. No."

"Three!"

They simultaneously swallow the berries. Prim screams, Rory trying to hold her against him. Mrs. Everdeen moans. I watch the screen, stunned that it actually happened. Stunned that she's actually going to die. My mind can't -

"Stop! Stop!" a voice cries out of the sky. Now I can hear it around the Seam, too, broadcasting in every District. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you - the tributes of District Twelve!"

* * *

Katniss and Peeta get to live.

But it hasn't stopped the anger. It hasn't stopped the blinding rage.

Letting them live doesn't redeem the Capitol. Katniss is just a prop to them, something to make them look better to the Districts because they let the couple live. They expect us to get on our knees and kiss their shiny shoes for _allowing_ it to happen.

I will never do that. They'll have to kill me first.

I know they would have murdered her had the audience not protested. I know everything is just a game to them. Life means nothing to them. Watching her get ripped apart by the mutts would have been enjoyable. They had to ensure Peeta and Katniss were the last two left, so they could watch the pair kill each other in a tragic scene.

They've shown their true colours. The people of the Districts really are nothing to them. The pain of District Thirteen's annihilation has long diminished, but now the anger and hatred is renewed. They've given us the spark to fuel our revenge.

Katniss could be in danger for going against them.

The plan is simple, already in my mind.

The Capitol's reign has to end.

I have to kill them.

And this?

This is just the start.

* * *

End.


End file.
